


Lovers in a Dangerous Time

by MakeUsMarble



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Love Consent, BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Danger, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Smut, Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 48,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27660611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakeUsMarble/pseuds/MakeUsMarble
Summary: Aziraphale tried not to stare. Bad enough that he’d been put in this mortifying position with a stranger; worse that the stranger was undeniably attractive, all fiery hair and sharp cheekbones and mesmerizing eyes. But that laugh took a face that had been handsome but forbidding and warmed it, like striking a match. Crowley had been uncomfortably alluring while cold with rage. In laughter, he was devastating.No, he had to stop this. The only thing more humiliating than what had already occurred would be if this stranger realized how very attracted he was.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 457
Kudos: 324





	1. Chapter 1

It was a beautiful room, in its way. The walls were papered in a deep crimson pattern that brought out the warmth in the dark, polished oak of the bookshelves. The shelves held expensive curios and heavily-bound books, tastefully displayed. None of the books looked like they’d been taken down in a long time, or frankly like the kind of thing anyone would want to read, but they gave the room a certain warmth. So did the fire crackling away in the hearth, and the plush armchair positioned conveniently close to it. The sofa looked less comfortable, but was certainly an antique, as was the nearby wood-inlaid table where a pitcher of wine and a glass rested. It looked, overall, less like anyone’s personal retreat and more like a room for a guest, but an important guest.

There were a few signs of the current occupant. A worn book that had certainly not come from any of the shelves rested on the side table by the armchair, next to an empty teacup. Through an open door a bedroom was visible, where a few discarded articles of clothing lay on the bed and several more, well-loved books sat on the bedside table. A careful observer might notice marks on the figured carpet suggesting that the armchair had originally been positioned for easy conversation with hypothetical companions on the sofa, and had been shifted in favor of giving a lone occupant better access to the warmth of the fire. Someone was staying here, but not, perhaps, someone who expected to stay long.

The outer door snapped open and a tall, red-haired man stumbled inside as if he had been shoved. Crowley straightened up. His clothing, rough and colorless, and dirty, as if he had been travelling, made him seem entirely out of place in the luxurious room. His expression was perfectly blank, but his face was pale and his eyes bright with rage. 

Voices drifted in from the hallway. “--really not necessary!”

A quieter murmur, harder to make out: “Apologies, your highness… Imperial Majesty… quite clear…”

A few more quiet words, and then the sound of footsteps as one of the speakers left. After a moment, the other entered the room and shut the door carefully behind him.

The newcomer, whose intricately embroidered suit marked him as the likely occupant of this room, stared at Crowley with blue eyes that shone with distress.

“I am _so_ terribly sorry,” Aziraphale said, wringing his hands. “I assure you, sir, I had no intention of--”

In an instant the other had rounded on him, and before he could take a breath, he was pinned face-first against the wall, one long-fingered hand twisting his arm painfully behind his back, the other wrapped around his throat.

“Save the apologies, _your highness_ ,” Crowley snarled, breath hot against his ear. “Now let me tell you how it’s going to be. _You_ are going to--” 

He stopped. Some internal alarm was ringing, some tiny signals he couldn’t have named clicking together to scream at him. He hadn’t survived this long by ignoring his instincts, so he paused, and listened. The stranger’s breath. The way he held his body. Not a threat after all. 

He released the prince immediately and stepped back. “You really weren’t going to do it, were you.”

“I am _not_ in the habit of forcing strangers to share my bed, _no,_ ” he answered huffily, straightening his clothes.

Crowley grinned sharply. “You’re awfully offended that someone expected you to do exactly what your emperor told you to.” He leaned casually against the table, relaxing.

“Yes, well.” He looked away. “I apologize. For that. As you can imagine, the emperor does not answer to me or anyone else.”

Crowley made a noncommittal sound. “I came here looking for work. Didn’t expect to get dragooned into sexual slavery.” He helped himself to a glass of wine. “Not the sort of thing that happens where I come from.”

Aziraphale smiled wryly. “You must not have been in the Empire long.”

Crowley let out a startled laugh. He’d heard nothing but prim and proper from the prince since their very recent meeting; the dig was an enjoyable surprise.

Aziraphale tried not to stare. Bad enough that he’d been put in this mortifying position with a stranger; worse that the stranger was undeniably attractive, all fiery hair and sharp cheekbones and mesmerizing eyes. But that laugh took a face that had been handsome but forbidding and warmed it, like striking a match. Crowley had been uncomfortably alluring while cold with rage. In laughter, he was _devastating_. 

He fidgeted with the excessively elaborate clothing that the court required, wishing he could loosen his collar. He kept his eyes firmly away from Crowley’s face and caught those elegant hands loosely grasping the wineglass. He tried his best not to think about the strength of those fingers, how they had felt wrapped around his throat, taking control. How entirely helpless he had been in the hands of this _beautiful_ man… An unexpected spike of pleasure went straight between his legs. He took a breath to calm himself.

Crowley chose that moment to take a long drink of the wine he had so casually claimed. His chin tipped back, showing the long lines of his throat, where his loose shirt exposed part of his chest, slim and muscled and strong. Aziraphale knew how strong, knew now what it felt like to be held against that chest, feel the other man’s breath against his ear… No, he had to stop this. The only thing more humiliating than what had already occurred would be if this stranger realized how _very_ attracted he was.

Crowley was slowly examining him. The prince wore the kind of highly formal suit expected of his station, all ivory embroidered in gold. The clothing was impeccable, but the flyaway curls shining faintly in the firelight had refused to be arranged or ironed down. Crowley let his gaze wander over the blond curls, the pink lips, the soft curves of the other man’s body. He took another drink of wine. His eyes caught on Aziraphale’s hands, which couldn’t seem to stay still. He watched Aziraphale fidget with his clothing, tugging at the cuffs and the hem, avoiding Crowley’s eyes. A slow smile spread itself across Crowley’s face.

Aziraphale cleared his throat uncomfortably, breaking the silence. “Well. Again, I do apologize for this situation. I, ah, I’m not sure what you would prefer, but it really would be best if you,” he cleared his throat again. “--stayed here till morning. It will draw a good deal of attention if you leave and I, um, I’m sure we can come to some acceptable arrangement…” he swallowed.

“I’m sure.” Crowley took another drink.

Aziraphale flushed and continued to ramble. “The, ah, couch is not especially comfortable but I tend to stay up late anyway, fall asleep in my armchair more often than not, I’d be happy to turn over the, uh, _other_ room to you for the night, if that would be… agreeable…” He trailed off. Crowley wouldn’t stop _looking_ at him.

Crowley made a small, deprecating sound. “Mmm, I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“What?” Aziraphale blinked up at him, confused.

Crowley set his glass down on the table deliberately. Then he stalked slowly toward Aziraphale, circling him. Aziraphale’s breath caught. “You liked it, didn’t you,” he said in a low voice.

“Wh-what?”

 _"This._ ” In an instant, Crowley had pinned him again, arms held fast to his sides instead of twisted, the hand on his throat now less a threat, and more a promise. He gasped at the heat against his back, the feeling that this man could do anything, _anything_ he wanted to him... “You were embarrassed, out there, but you didn’t get so _flustered_ until I shoved you into a wall. Because you _liked_ it,” he breathed into Aziraphale’s ear.

The sound that worked its way out of the smaller man’s throat was completely unintelligible, but it made his captor’s smile widen. In a moment somehow he had spun Aziraphale around so they were face to face, one hand now pinning his wrists behind his back. He met those shocked blue eyes, watched the pupils dilate. “You’re beautiful,” he said frankly, and Aziraphale’s lips parted. “Answer my question, pretty angel,” he whispered. “Do you want this?”

“I--ah-- I think--I--” he babbled, bright red with embarrassment, unable to gather his thoughts to form a single sentence.

Crowley released him and stepped away, golden eyes meeting his with a strange half-smile. “You have to tell me,” he said softly, and it struck Aziraphale suddenly that perhaps he had no idea what kind of game they were playing. That perhaps this stranger had his own rules.

“But you were so angry,” he said quietly, caught in the other man’s gaze, searching it for the truth. “When you thought that was what I wanted.”

His lips quirked. “I was. But you aren’t what I expected. I think we may be…” he smirked. “More _compatible_ than I had thought. Do you?” He raised an eyebrow.

Aziraphale bit his lip and looked down uncertainly. He opened his mouth to answer. Closed it. Looked up and met those strange golden eyes again. His chin went up, face set with determination and something almost like defiance. _Why shouldn’t I. If he wants to as well, then for_ once _, why shouldn’t I?_ “Yes,” he said firmly. “Yes, I do.” He stepped forward, placed a hand at the nape of that beautiful neck, and kissed him.

The kiss was firm, but far gentler than Crowley had been expecting. No force, no attempt to push his way into his mouth. Just the soft motion of lips against lips, the brush of eyelashes against his cheek, whispering in the language of desire.

“My name is Aziraphale,” he murmured against the other’s lips, after a long moment.

“Crowley,” he answered, breath escaping in a surprised laugh. “You don’t want me to call you _your highness_ , then?” he asked ironically, one hand sliding down Aziraphale’s back to grip his ass.

“ _Please_ don’t,” he gasped.

“Mmm.” His hands continued to wander, now loosening the other man’s collar to press his lips against the curve of his shoulder. “And what _do_ you want, _Aziraphale?”_ Crowley’s voice on his name was a caress.

“Oh,” he sighed, lost in the feeling of those _hands_ running all over his body, lighting fires everywhere they touched. “I-- ah-- I think we might both be-- more comfortable-- in the other room--” he swallowed. “The bedroom.”

Crowley smiled wickedly. “Full of good ideas, aren’t you. Not turning it over to me while you sleep in the chair anymore, hmm?” 

Aziraphale laughed breathlessly. Crowley took his hand and led him into the bedroom, the prince stumbling slightly as he followed, eyes fixed on the other man’s face as if he were hypnotized, wrapped in a powerful sense of unreality.

Crowley nudged the door shut with his foot and pulled Aziraphale closer. He reached out, hand hovering, and looked at Crowley uncertainly, as if not entirely sure he was allowed to touch. Crowley’s smirk went a little soft at the edges. He pulled that hand forward to rest on his own chest. “It’s all right,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss again. Aziraphale’s hands ran hesitantly across his chest, his shoulders, exploring the warmth and muscle he could feel through Crowley’s coarse shirt. Finally his hands went up to wind around his neck and into his shoulder-length hair, gently massaging his scalp.

Crowley made a pleased noise into the kiss. His own hands had been busy, unbuttoning and unfastening without needing to look, but he kept them above the waist for now. _Slow. This will be slow._ He eased his hands under Aziraphale’s shirt, touching bare skin for the first time. He moved slowly, lightly tracing over soft curves and valleys. The other man’s fingers tightened in his hair, and he made a little sound, shivering at the touch.

Crowley pulled back a bit and grinned broadly before pulling off his own shirt and tossing it to the side. He moved back in, enjoying the way Aziraphale’s eyes were locked on his bare chest. He gripped the sides of his partner’s jacket and said cheekily, “May I?”

Those big blue eyes rose to meet his and Aziraphale nodded wordlessly. Crowley kissed him again, lips opening, tongue sliding in to explore his mouth as he slowly slipped the jacket off his shoulders, hands moving to the hem of the silk shirt to pull it over Aziraphale’s head. Their warm skin pressed together, sharp planes and angles melting into plush, fair softness. Without breaking the kiss, Crowley pulled them down onto the bed.

They spent a long time like that, slowly exploring each other’s bodies, letting their hands wander more boldly, winding closer and closer into each other. Then Crowley’s thigh, which had made its way in between Aziraphale’s legs, pressed _upward_ in a way that made him moan quite loudly. 

Crowley grinned, and did it again.

“ _Oh--_ you--” Aziraphale whimpered, and then he reached down and ran his hand firmly up the hard length of Crowley’s cock. Crowley groaned in pleasure, pushing into the touch. When he opened his eyes, Aziraphale was watching his face closely. “Do you-- you like-- what do you like?” he whispered.

Crowley’s eyebrows went up. He’d had plenty of casual lovers who didn’t much care what he liked. Nobles who slept with servants in particular were not generally so considerate. He smiled, a little predatory. “I like _that,”_ he thrust into Aziraphale’s hand for emphasis, “but harder.” Aziraphale’s hand tightened around him, and Crowley grunted appreciatively. “I like putting my hands _all_ over your beautiful body. Especially _here,”_ Crowley’s fingers sank into one soft buttock. Aziraphale’s breath hissed in response. “But mostly,” He gripped Aziraphale’s chin, running his thumb over a bottom lip that was pink and swollen from kisses. “I want to make you fall apart.” He leaned in and began kissing his way up that pale neck. “I want to hear you beg for me.” His lips came to rest on the delicate skin behind his ear. “I want to make you forget your own name.” He pressed one final kiss into that tender skin. “Do you think you’d like that, pretty angel?” he purred.

“Very-- very much,” Aziraphale whispered.

“ _Good.”_ He flipped the smaller man onto his back and ground down against him. Aziraphale arched up into him with a cry. “ _Very_ good,” he murmured, and started moving his mouth down the other man’s body, hands slowly removing what remained of their clothing. Finally he came to rest between Aziraphale’s legs, both perfectly naked now, and Aziraphale stared in open wonder at the hard planes of that tan body, muscular back curving down into the tight swell of his ass, but most of all at the gleaming eyes and wicked grin hovering so very close to his own cock.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale’s legs over his shoulders and turned to kiss slowly up the inside of his pale thigh. “Have you done this before?” he asked as his lips reached the crease of his thigh.

“Not for a long time,” he breathed. _And never quite like this,_ he thought, but didn’t say.

Crowley met his eyes. “You’ll tell me if any of it’s too much,” he said authoritatively, less a request than a command. Aziraphale nodded. Then Crowley’s head dipped down, below his cock, and wet heat pressed against a place on his body where no one had _ever_ put their mouth before.

“ _Oooh!”_ he cried out.

“Is this all right?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale could actually _feel_ his grin, lips spreading against his skin.

“You-- you know perfectly well that it-- _oh!_ ”

Crowley was apparently in no hurry. His lips and tongue caressed him slowly, and Aziraphale let himself get lost in every tiny sensation. It wasn’t until he was so relaxed that he felt like he was melting into the mattress that Crowley finally breached him, pressing in impossibly carefully. Aziraphale tensed a little and the finger inside him froze. “All right?” Crowley asked.

“Mmm-- yes,” Aziraphale answered, forcing himself to relax. “Keep going. Please.”

Aziraphale thought he heard a mumbled “So _polite,_ ” before Crowley continued and he wasn’t in much condition to notice anything else. And it felt _so good,_ to let go, to forget everything but sensation, the absolute madness of trusting this _stranger_ so intimately.

Crowley was proving himself well-deserving of that trust. Before long Aziraphale was writhing in pleasure, clutching at the silk sheets and barely aware of all the sounds falling from his lips. “ _Please,_ ” he heard himself moaning, “Oh, Crowley, _please._ ”

“Mmm. I like it when you say my name.” Eyes closed, Aziraphale felt Crowley move up his body to press lips against his cheek. “Ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” Aziraphale answered, trying not to tense up again. Crowley apparently noticed, because suddenly warm, calloused palms were smoothing slowly up and down his body. Only when he was sinking back into the bed did Crowley ask again. “Ready?”

“Mmhmm,” he answered with a lazy smile. Crowley smiled back, and pressed inside.

They moaned in unison. “ _Oh_ , Crowley,” he gasped as he slowly sank deeper.

“ _Aziraphale,_ ” he breathed in response.

Aziraphale whimpered when Crowley finally bottomed out and then carefully started to move in rhythm. “Crowley,” he whispered. “Crowley, please… _oh_ … oh, I want…” He bit off the words, suddenly ashamed to be demanding anything at all.

He felt a hand at his chin, tilting his face up. “Tell me.” He smiled. “So far I like _everything_ you want.”

His lips twitched into an unwilling half-smile. “I-- I want you to hold me down. I want to feel how-- how strong you are. Like before,” he mumbled.

Crowley’s smile went wicked. “Oh _yes._ I _definitely_ like everything you want, pretty angel.” Teeth pressed against his neck. Then Crowley had seized his wrists and pressed them into the bed above his head, one hand holding him pinned there. Aziraphale gasped and his back arched involuntarily, rolling them together and sending another spike of pleasure through him as Crowley pressed inside him at a new angle. He moaned. “Mmm. Good boy,” murmured Crowley. His other hand wrapped around Aziraphale’s hip, moving him exactly the way he wanted him. Now pleasure was lighting him up from the inside with every thrust, but he was helpless in the face of it, unable to seek more pleasure or pull back from it, his slowly building orgasm entirely Crowley’s to give to him when he was ready. Moans poured from Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Like… that,” Crowley gasped into his ear, and went faster.

Aziraphale trembled on the edge, shaking with pleasure and desire. Suddenly a warm pressure wrapped around his cock and he was coming, deaf to his own cries as he shuddered in Crowley’s arms. Slowly he came down from the high to find Crowley’s face pressed into his neck, the other man gripping his hips hard as he shook with his own orgasm. Aziraphale wondered dazedly if he would leave marks. He rather liked the idea of wearing evidence of this mad escapade, after…

 _No need to think about that now_ , he thought, pushing his worries away as Crowley opened his eyes to grin shamelessly at him, rumpled and satiated and gorgeous. _Worry about tomorrow when it comes._

In spite of his resolution, Aziraphale was surprised when he drifted easily into sleep, enjoying the warmth of the arm wrapped across his waist.

In the morning, Crowley was dressed and almost ready to leave when it happened. It’d been nice-- a warm body to wake up against, some soft morning kisses, light banter as he got ready and Aziraphale half-pretended not to be sneaking looks at him-- but Crowley had done this too many times to be surprised. He’d made some casual reference to the possibility of seeing each other in the future, and Aziraphale’s easy smile vanished.

“Ah… about that, Crowley.” He swallowed. Crowley attempted not to roll his eyes as he waited for it. My wife… my husband… my spotless reputation… whatever it’d be this time. He actually felt _disappointed_ \-- and stupid for letting himself think that this man with his soft eyes and golden curls might be different from anyone else.

“You haven’t been here long enough to know, but I’m…” Crowley crossed his arms and waited for the stupid excuse. “Not exactly popular at court.” Aziraphale bit his lip. “I have enemies. It would be better if they didn’t know about what happened between us.”

Crowley blinked, entirely blindsided. He gave Aziraphale an incredulous look. “…everyone’s going to assume we did, Aziraphale. The emperor _wanted_ you to fuck me. He practically ordered you to.”

Aziraphale’s lips twisted. “That is certainly what he intended you to think.”

There was a long pause as the pieces clicked into place. Crowley’s jaw dropped. “That bastard wanted me to hurt you,” he breathed. His fists clenched. “He _knew_ I was pissed about being forced into some noble’s bed.” His voice rose. “He _knew_ I was stronger than you. He picked me on purpose because he thought I would _hurt_ you!”

“I suspect so,” Aziraphale said crisply. “It would be better if he believed that his plan was successful.”

Crowley swung around and paced across the room furiously. He’d known that politics in the Imperial Court were fucked up, but that someone had tried to _use_ him like a mindless weapon against this man, _this man_ who had been nothing but kind to him, who suddenly looked so very vulnerable seated at the edge of the bed where they had pleasured each other, hair still rumpled from sleep, white neck still marked by Crowley’s lips...

He took a breath and rubbed his face. “Aziraphale, that doesn’t make any sense. You’re his _heir_. Why would he…”

Aziraphale sighed. “Not the heir he would have chosen. We’re cousins, and our families have never gotten on. He is, ah, unable to provide a replacement for me in the traditional way, a fact that is widely known. This makes my existence even more galling to him, as you can imagine.”

“So he set you up to be humiliated, maybe assaulted, and he used _me_ to do it,” he snarled.

“Crowley.” Something about Aziraphale’s voice made him stop his pacing and meet his eyes. “I can’t protect you.” He searched Crowley’s face for understanding. “I can’t protect anyone in my current position, and anyone known to be closely associated with me is likely to _need_ protection.” His hands gripped each other tightly. “The best I could do would be to help you leave the palace safely, and I _will_ if that is what you want, but if you’re to remain here, no one can believe that we’re… _attached,_ in any way.”

Crowley nodded slowly. “I understand.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders dropped in relief. “Thank you.” He looked down. “I’m sorry, I should have told you last night, before. My only defense is that it all felt… well, rather like a dream.” He smiled softly, staring at his lap.

Crowley grinned. “I’ll take that compliment. Would have done it anyway. I don’t mind a bit of risk, Aziraphale.”

The smile became more pronounced. “Somehow I’d already gotten that impression.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I have never, ever written really explicit smut before! This was really hard. Contrary to current appearances, this story will actually (I think) be more story and less smut! But as much as I deeply enjoy all the pining in this fandom, I also very much like the idea of the two of them meeting each other and immediately going for it. Sex first, then friendship, and then...  
> I've also never before written a fic as long as I expect this one to be-- I'm guessing it'll be somewhere between 7-10 chapters in the end. I have a couple more chapters about ready to go, but I'm going to try out a weekly posting schedule.  
> I would LOVE any comments you're willing to give! A story like this is very new territory for me, so I would really appreciate hearing what people think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have no idea if I can keep up a bi-weekly posting schedule long term, but I was too excited to wait any longer. I have enough already written to keep it up for a few weeks, anyway. Enjoy!

Aziraphale opened his door at the end of the day with a sigh. It was always a relief to get back to his rooms, but today he couldn’t help but feel just a little bit lonely, knowing the room would be empty and he would be back to sleeping alone. _Foolish. As if you haven’t slept alone nearly every night of your life. Just enjoy the memory and--_

“Aziraphale,” came an unexpected voice from inside, “you were right. That sofa is _terrible._ ”

Aziraphale halted in shock and dismay. Crowley was sprawled sideways across his armchair, an empty wineglass dangling from his fingers at a very precarious angle. He grinned at him upside-down. “Hey, pretty angel.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shut the door hurriedly. “What are you doing here? Did anyone see you?”

Crowley’s grin widened. “Doooon’t worry,” he drawled. “ _I_ am here _completely_ against my will. Just following orders like a good boy.” He winked.

“Orders? Were-- did the emperor send you _back_ here? I hadn’t thought--”

“Nope! You _see,_ ” Crowley went to take a drink of his wine, then frowned at the empty glass, disappointed. “ _I_ reported for work in the morning, right on time, bitched and moaned to everybody about how uptight you were, no fun at all.” He smirked, giving Aziraphale an obvious once-over from where his head dangled off the arm of the chair. Aziraphale felt his cheeks warm. “But _then_ ,” Crowley cast about for a moment, eyes settling on the side table that held the pitcher of wine, just out of his reach. He wiggled his fingers at it as if he could summon it closer. “During my interview with the housekeeper, I just _happened_ to ask some _very_ innocent questions about the local customs, and whether it was _usual_ for the heir to the empire to be _totally_ without personal servants, and living in quarters that were, well, in a bit of a _state_ …”

A laugh bubbled out of Aziraphale’s chest. “Crowley, you _didn’t._ ”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, just trying to understand protocols for my new job. Anyway,” With a look of concentration, Crowley hooked his ankle around the side table and started dragging it slowly toward himself, making the pitcher totter dangerously. “The housekeeper decided you need someone assigned to you, not a popular position since your emperor’s a dick, for _some_ reason she’s taken a bit of a dislike to me, and,” The table had now caught on the edge of the carpet and Crowley glared at it, tugging. With an exasperated sigh, Aziraphale walked over, lifted the table, and set it next to Crowley’s head. Crowley grinned cheerily up at him. “And here I am! Permanent assignment. You’re welcome.”

Aziraphale gave him a flat look. “Are you always this irritating when you’re pleased with yourself?”

Crowley smiled with absolutely no remorse. “Yep. They set up a cot for me in the corner over there. Gonna make me use it?” His smile had turned provocative, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but think that it was distinctly unfair that a man could look so attractive while sprawled nearly upside down, struggling to take a drink of wine without pouring it directly into his eyes.

“I suppose that depends on how _annoying_ you decide to be,” Aziraphale answered.

“Anyone who knows me would tell you that the answer to that is “very”. Guess I’ve got a lot of cold nights ahead of me.” He looked utterly untroubled.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows drew together and his bantering tone vanished. “I… don’t really understand why you went to all this trouble.”

Crowley swung his body around and sat up in one graceful movement. He wrapped his hands around Aziraphale’s hips and pulled him closer, in between his spread legs. “No possible explanation. Real man of mystery, I am.” 

Aziraphale looked down at him. Irrelevantly, he thought that this couldn’t possibly be a flattering angle, Crowley seated with his face almost touching his stomach, looking up his body with bright, happy eyes. Crowley raised an inquiring eyebrow and the teasing dropped. “If you’re not comfortable with this, just say so, Aziraphale. I can undo it easily enough.”

“No, no, it’s just… well.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose I’m not used to anyone making an effort to… see me. When you’ve incurred the emperor’s displeasure, one gets used to being avoided.”

“Well, he seems like a shit and they’re all missing out,” Crowley answered lightly.

Aziraphale laughed. “You have _no_ idea how strange it is to hear someone speak that way of him.”

Crowley shrugged. “Not _my_ emperor.”

“Yes, you have a queen over in Alanda, don’t you?”

Crowley grimaced. “Is my accent _that_ obvious?”

“Well, somewhat, and if it weren’t, your lovely eye-color certainly is.”

“Lovely?” Crowley tugged him down into his lap. “I like the sound of that.”

Aziraphale let his head fall against Crowley’s shoulder. “Yes, yes, you’re very beautiful. It goes some way toward making up for your appalling personality.”

He felt Crowley’s chuckle rumble through his chest. “So I’m told.”

He relaxed further in Crowley’s arms, eyes slipping shut. This was so _easy_. He had never imagined that something like this could be so easy.

One of Crowley’s arms was wrapped firmly around his shoulders, and the other hand was tracing gently up and down his arm. “You know we don’t have to do anything,” he murmured, lips against Aziraphale’s curls. “Just because I’m staying here. Don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Aziraphale hummed agreement. “Nor you. No obligations.”

“Right. But just so we’re clear, tonight I _definitely_ do want to. If you’re interested.”

“Mmm. I imagine I could be convinced.” 

“I can be _very_ convincing.” Crowley’s hand moved over to his chest, running down the center until at the last moment he moved to the side to ghost over the curve of his hip and thigh. Aziraphale inhaled, his feeling of warm relaxation gathering into a definite interest between his legs. He started to get up, thinking to move them into the bedroom, but Crowley held him fast. “No need to rush, angel,” he said. “We can do this every night now, if we want. Relax. Enjoy it.”

Twenty minutes later, Aziraphale was still in Crowley’s lap, now dissolved into a puddle of lust, his clothing undone to reveal his chest, nipples swollen from Crowley’s attentions, attentions that had now shifted down to his open trousers where Crowley was caressing his aching cock with maddening gentleness.

“Oh, _oh,_ Crowley, _please_ ,” he begged, entirely unselfconscious. Instinctively his hand moved down to wrap over Crowley’s, desperate to increase the pressure.

“Oh, _no_ , sweetheart,” Crowley chided, releasing his cock to grip his wrist. “I’m nowhere _near_ done watching you fall apart for me.” Aziraphale whimpered at the loss of sensation and writhed in his arms. “Mmm, I see. Can’t help yourself, can you? Let me help you with that.” Aziraphale could hear the dark smile in his voice as Crowley pulled him forward against his chest, guided his arms behind his back, and tied his wrists together with his own handkerchief. “This all right?” Crowley whispered in his ear. Aziraphale nodded emphatically.

Crowley laid him back down on the armrest and for a moment Aziraphale just absorbed it, himself sprawled helplessly over Crowley’s lap, clothing disheveled and laid open for him to touch as he pleased, Crowley fully clothed and with his cock hard underneath him, staring down at him with possessive lust.

Crowley leaned forward and pressed his thumb slowly past Aziraphale’s lips. “You’re going to come when I decide you will, pretty angel. Because tonight, you’re _mine_.”

He moaned at the words, then ran his tongue down the finger in his mouth, sucking hard. Crowley let out a harsh breath. “God, you’re gorgeous.” He pulled his hand away and kissed him hard, fingers moving down to wrap around his cock again. Aziraphale arched into his touch, moaning around the tongue in his mouth, thrusting desperately against the hand that still held him too lightly to do more than tantalize.

He wasn’t sure how long Crowley kept him there, exploring his mouth, fingers drawing him to a higher and higher pitch of pleasure and need. Finally he pulled back to whisper, “Are you ready to come, Aziraphale?”

The sound he made in response contained no words.

“I thought so.” Lips moved against his, briefly. “And would you like to come like this, spread out all open and desperate for me? Or would you like to wait just a little longer and come with my cock inside you?”

If Crowley’s grip had been just a little tighter, he would have come right then. “Ohhhhh, _please, please--_ ”

“Please what?” That hand still moved on him, lightly, teasingly. “You have to tell me what you want, angel.”

“ _Please, please,_ Crowley, fuck me, _please_ \--”

He was cut off by another deep kiss. “Any time.”

Then Crowley was lifting him, standing up without any noticeable difficulty, and Aziraphale marvelled again at his strength as Crowley set him down and gently pressed him to his knees, bending him over so his face and chest rested on the seat of the armchair, arms still tied behind his back. A whisper of sound and warmth told him that Crowley knelt behind him, and then he could feel long fingers slowly lowering his trousers, taking the opportunity to caress his backside, the sensitive skin on the backs of his thighs, lower, till he was naked from the waist down. “Crowley, Crowley, please, _now,_ ” he begged.

“Shhh.” Crowley’s hands were on his thighs, spreading them wide, exposing him. “Just be patient a little longer. I’ll give you what you need.” There was a wet sound, and then one of Crowley’s fingers was pressing gently, gently inside of him, carefully opening him up. 

Aziraphale almost screamed. “I’m ready, Crowley, it’s fine, I’m ready,” he babbled wildly.

“Quiet.” That hint of command was back in his voice. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He leaned forward, chest pressing against Aziraphale’s back as his finger moved deeper. “I told you, you’re mine. And I take _good_ care of what’s mine,” he whispered into his ear.

Aziraphale moaned, and he couldn’t say if it was at the words or at the second finger, opening him wider. He couldn’t even rock back against those fingers, pinned down by Crowley’s body wrapped over his. It seemed a long, aching eternity, shivering with sensation, until Crowley’s cock pushed inside of him and began to move.

“You know,” Crowley said breathlessly, between thrusts. “I was going to take your pretty cock and jerk you off while I fuck you. But I don’t think I need to.” His fingers were tight as he pulled Aziraphale’s hips back to meet his own. “I think you’re going to come for me just like this. Feels good, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale moaned helplessly. “Beautiful thing. Taking me so well. I think it’s time for you to _come_.”

His pace increased sharply and Aziraphale was coming, crying out with his face buried in the cushion, shaking as it overwhelmed him. At some point he was aware of warmth and wetness inside him, dripping out of him, and of Crowley’s voice moaning against the back of his neck.

They collapsed, limp against the seat of the chair, both breathing hard. Slowly, Aziraphale turned his head. “You are a very bad man,” he mumbled.

Crowley’s arms wrapped around his waist and squeezed affectionately. “Glad to be of service.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They are getting to know each other! I had a lot of fun writing this part. I live for comments, please tell me what you thought!


	3. Chapter 3

They didn’t make it to the bedroom the next night, either.

_That_ night ended with Aziraphale pushed up against the wall of the sitting room, both legs wrapped around Crowley’s waist, while the other man pounded into him, gravity impaling Aziraphale deeper on his cock than he had known he could go.

The following night gave Aziraphale some fairly serious rug-burn on his knees, which Crowley apologized for in a tone that somehow managed to be both sincerely remorseful and incredibly smug. And, if Aziraphale was honest with himself, he quite enjoyed the memories that the sting brought back for the next few days.

A loud pounding at the door interrupted them the next night, just as Crowley was starting to seriously explore his options for the evening. Aziraphale sighed, and straightened his clothes, re-doing a few buttons and smoothing his hair.

“You’d best make yourself scarce for a bit, dear. This will probably be unpleasant.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows and looked around the room. “Make myself scarce how?”

“I don’t know, pretend to clean something. Excuse me.”

Instead, Crowley ducked behind the partially open bedroom door so he could focus on eavesdropping. Aziraphale opened the door and the enraged shouting began. It was largely incoherent as far as Crowley could tell, but he definitely caught a few choice insults about Aziraphale’s manhood, intelligence, ancestry, appearance, and sexual proclivities. A protective rage stirred in his gut, but then he caught sight of the calm, faintly disdainful expression on Aziraphale’s face. His mouth twitched. He then had the great privilege of watching Aziraphale grow more and more excruciatingly polite as the other man grew more and more infuriated.

Finally Aziraphale inquired, wiping spittle delicately off his face, “I’m terribly sorry, my good sir, but might I ask in what _precise_ way I can be of service to you in this matter?”

What followed were a few vague but dire threats before the man, a fellow noble from the look of it, stomped away.

“And good evening to you,” Aziraphale said after him, and closed the door. “ _What_ is so funny?”

Crowley was bent almost double in silent laughter. “Oh, nothing,” he wiped his streaming eyes. “That was _fantastic_.” He walked over and swept Aziraphale into a kiss. “Also very sexy. What the _hell_ did you do to piss that shithead off so much?”

Aziraphale sighed in exasperation. “Oh, it’s the most ridiculous thing. He’s having an affair, which he’d like to pretend he’s being discreet about, and he’s been ordering the same little page girl to sneak messages to his lover every evening, only the woman’s husband has caught on and gotten belligerent about the whole thing, which is understandable I suppose, except it’s the _page_ who he’s taking it out on, shouting at her, threatening her if she won’t tell him who his wife’s lover is, which had the poor thing terrified, of course, she’s barely nine years old and _certainly_ need not be caught in the middle of all of this, just appalling. Anyway, I saw her crying over it yesterday evening and had the whole thing out of her in a moment, so I informed his man that I would be requiring her services in the evenings for the foreseeable future, and that _surely_ he could find alternative forms of private communication that did not involve _children_.” He huffed angrily. “He appears to have taken exception to my intervention. In any case, if she comes here when I’m out, do let her in, will you?” He took in Crowley’s expression, which might have been described as “dumbfounded”. “What is it?”

An incredulous smile slowly dawned on Crowley’s face. “You did _what?”_

“Well, I could hardly just allow that to continue! What was that poor child supposed to do? According to palace rules, _she_ is supposed to obey any noble who gives her an order, and what on earth were they thinking, giving her conflicting orders and each threatening her if she didn’t obey? Atrocious behavior.”

Crowley was still wearing that dazed smile. “Whatever happened to ‘I can’t protect anyone’?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Well, I hardly think anyone is going to target her in order to harm me. Not the way they would be likely to go after my lover.”

Slowly, Crowley said, “You’re not worried they’ll retaliate against you.”

“I suppose they might. But what else was I supposed to do? Unless you have a cleverer idea.”

Crowley blinked bemusedly at him. Then he pulled Aziraphale into a long, thorough kiss. “You really are something, you know that, angel?” he murmured.

Aziraphale relaxed in his arms. “I’m not at all sure what you mean, but that was very nice all the same.”

Crowley scoffed. _“Nice._ Hmmph. I’ll show you _nice.”_ He leaned down, picked Aziraphale up and threw him over his shoulder, manhandling him a little in the way that he had learned he liked.

_“Oh!_ Goodness, Crowley, _what_ brought this on?” Aziraphale squirmed in his arms in mock distress. Crowley could feel his cock hardening against his shoulder, and grinned as he strode into the bedroom.

He tossed Aziraphale down in the center of the bed and then crawled over top of him. “Just need to find a way to reward my brave warrior,” he purred. “Home from defending the weak against selfish bastards.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, smiling softly. “Every night with you is a reward, Crowley.”

He smiled, and leaned down for another long, slow kiss. “Maybe I can make this one last longer than usual, then.”

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around his neck. “Oh, I doubt that.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “You do?”

“Oh dear. What have I done now?”

What he had done, apparently, was inspire Crowley to tie him to the bed by his wrists and ankles and then slowly suck him off for a _very_ long time. He arched into that wet heat, crying out at the sensation of Crowley’s tongue tracing his length.

_“Ohhhh…_ oh…” He sucked in a breath sharply. “Oh-- wait, Crowley, Crowley, wait--”

Crowley pulled off him immediately. “What’s wrong?” One hand rose to cup his face.

“N-nothing, I just-- I’m going to come,” he said breathlessly.

He grinned. “That’s the idea.” He moved to continue.

“But I don’t--” he blushed. “I don’t want it to be over yet.”

Crowley looked fiercely pleased. “I know, Aziraphale. Trust me?”

Aziraphale hesitated a second, then nodded.

Crowley continued, faster now, and in a moment Aziraphale was gasping out his pleasure, thrusting involuntarily into that lovely mouth.

He breathed deeply as he slowly came down from the high, faintly aware of Crowley untying him and pulling him close. He nuzzled into Crowley’s chest and sighed as those long fingers began to card through his curls. After a while they moved down to massage his neck and shoulders, leaving him loose and relaxed. Then Crowley traveled down his arms to rub each palm and finger. Aziraphale felt like he was melting, floating between sleep and waking with this gentler pleasure emanating from Crowley’s fingertips. Slowly, Crowley rolled him onto his back and began massaging the muscles of his chest, one arm wrapped around his shoulders to hold him in a gentle kiss. Then the fingers on his chest spread to ghost over both of Aziraphale’s nipples.

He made a sound into Crowley’s mouth. Crowley pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, and went back to rubbing his chest, long fingers occasionally moving to tease his nipples briefly. Aziraphale whimpered. “Feel good, angel?” he whispered. His hand was moving down now, running gently across Aziraphale’s thighs, lighting up every nerve without ever touching between his legs.

_“Yes,"_ he breathed. “Oh, my _dear_ … you’re too-- too good to me.”

“Not possible,” Crowley answered briefly, and pressed their lips together again just as his fingers dropped and finally began to tease Aziraphale’s opening.

The light touch, so close to where he wanted it, was electric. Fully hard again, Aziraphale rolled onto his side and threw a leg over Crowley’s hip, grasping him with needy hands. The arm around his shoulders held him close as Crowley carefully slipped one slick finger just barely inside him.

He moaned and tried to grind down to push him deeper, but Crowley’s hand moved with him easily, refusing to give him more till he was ready. “Trust me,” he whispered again, and Aziraphale made a helpless sound and nodded.

Soon he was writhing, wrapped close in Crowley’s arms, moaning into his kiss as those fingers moved slowly inside him. It felt so incredibly intimate to be held like this, every inch of their naked bodies pressed together, Crowley’s erection hard against his stomach, Crowley’s fingers buried deep in him, only now beginning to brush that spot inside of him that made him arch in his arms. 

He clutched his lover closer, wanting more. Crowley began to move his fingers in and out of him, first slowly, then faster, hitting that spot perfectly every time.

Crowley’s lips… Crowley’s hands… Crowley’s beautiful, powerful body, holding him… Aziraphale’s vision whited out as he came, and for a moment it felt like there was nothing in the universe but Crowley, surrounding him completely.

Crowley held him gently while his breathing calmed and his trembling eased. “So beautiful,” he whispered into his hair.

After a moment Aziraphale groped forward blindly, intent even in his boneless exhaustion on returning some of the pleasure he’d been receiving, but instead Crowley rolled him onto his stomach and began rubbing his back. Too worn out to argue, Aziraphale just moaned into the pillow. He wondered vaguely what he had done to deserve a lover like this, and how exactly he could make sure to never stop doing it. Crowley’s hands moved down his back, eventually reaching his buttocks and massaging deeply into them. He groaned a little at the pressure, then whined when Crowley’s fingers brushed across his entrance. “Oh, Crowley… I… I’m not sure I can, again…” he whimpered at the touch.

Lips pressed against the back of his neck. “Do you want to find out?” he asked with a voice full of promise.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and gave in to his desires. _“_ _Yes,"_ he whispered.

_“Good.”_ He bit down on the curve of his neck, hard enough to leave a mark.

Aziraphale gasped, and then Crowley was pressing inside him, caressing his hair when he almost sobbed at the stimulation to his over-sensitive body.

“Shhh… you’re all right… _so_ good for me… I know you can take more, just a little more pleasure for me…” 

Aziraphale cried out when he started thrusting in and out of him, every tender nerve humming with pleasure that quivered on the edge of pain.

_“Yes,_ sweetheart… so good… your beautiful body is always so good for me… always does just what I want… and I want you to come again, for me… whether you think you can or not...”

He lay there, helpless, as Crowley filled him and filled him and filled him, deep and huge inside him, and he felt another orgasm start to build even as he shook and nearly wept with sensation that was _too much--_ but he wanted it, oh, he wanted the pleasure and the intensity that was climbing through every inch of him.

His whimpers and cries grew more urgent, and Crowley wrapped an arm around his waist and seized his cock, pumping it hard as he pounded into him mercilessly.

Aziraphale screamed, and came harder than he ever had before.

Somewhere in the overwhelming tidal wave of sensation, he could feel Crowley coming inside him, fucking him harder, keeping him at the peak, and it went on, and on, and on…

Finally he came back to earth. He couldn’t seem to stop shaking. Crowley had pulled the blankets up over them both and was now caressing his cheek with a concerned look on his face.

“Was… was that okay? Was it too much?” He bit his lip.

Aziraphale blinked, and tried to find words in a brain that felt full of molasses. “You’re incredible,” he mumbled. “You’re everything. Are you real? Prob’ly not real, why would you pick me?” He sighed. “Just a good dream. The best dream.”

Crowley gave a little breathless, relieved laugh. “Plenty of reasons for picking you, angel. I learn new ones all the time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had actually written well past this point in the story without this scene, but it felt like something was missing in their relationship development, and then I thought, Aziraphale has to give away his sword! Crowley can't really fall in love with him until he gives away his sword. So here we are.  
> Thank you so much to everyone who's commented! I love reading them so much, and it's so great to get to talk to people about Good Omens!


	4. Chapter 4

“Fuck, Aziraphale, what happened to _you?”_

Aziraphale grimaced and started stripping off his outer layers, trying not to splash mud all over the room. It wasn’t working. 

_“Hunting,”_ he said, in tones of deep loathing. He attempted to scrape the mud off his face, but he seemed to just be moving it around.

“Wait, hang on.” Crowley darted out of the room and came back with a towel. He started wiping Aziraphale’s face much more effectively, and the other man submitted with a sigh. “So, not a fan of hunting?” he asked.

“I have never, in fact, learned _how_ to hunt,” he griped, trying to remove his caked boots without falling down. “A fact which my cousin well knows and makes use of at every opportunity. Horses are fine when moving at a _reasonable_ pace. Not leaping over obstacles and dashing after who-knows-what.” Nearly naked, he looked down at himself with a sigh. “It’s _everywhere_ , isn’t it.”

Crowley nodded. “You need a bath. Lemme just call someone to bring up some hot water. Stay there, don’t spread it around anymore.”

“Oh, you don’t need to--”

“Hey, this _is_ technically my job.”

Ten minutes later Aziraphale was sinking into a warm bath in the space Crowley had cleared in front of the fire. “Ohhh, thank you,” he murmured. Crowley perched behind him and began working the mud out of his curls. “Would-- would you like to join me?”

“Angel, that water is _filthy_. Thanks, though. Next time.”

“Mmm.” They sat there in silence for a few minutes, until Aziraphale was nearly asleep.

“So how on earth does a prince end up never learning how to hunt?” Crowley had gotten the dirt out of his hair and was now just playing with it idly.

“Well, it isn’t as if I’ve been a prince for very _long_.”

“Yeah, but you were a duke or something before all those totally natural untimely deaths, right?”

Aziraphale snorted. “No, actually. My father wasn’t titled. It was a bit of a scandal when my mother married him-- she was the one with the royal blood. They didn’t exactly disown her, but the family never had anything to do with her again. Hence the emperor’s distaste for me.” He picked up the soap and began scrubbing himself. “I had never been to the palace before I arrived two months ago.”

Crowley stood and started picking up the discarded clothing. “So where did you grow up?”

“In the country, a few hundred miles from here. There’s a village, some tenant farmers and others who looked to my father for protection. Too well-settled for much hunting. The house is old, but it’s been cared for well. Nothing like the luxury here, of course. But it’s comfortable.” Aziraphale stood abruptly and picked up the towel that rested on the table.

Crowley leaned on the back of the chair and looked at him thoughtfully. “You miss it.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale didn’t meet his eyes.

“Why not go back, then?”

He smiled crookedly. “Alandan nobles might have such rights, but I am an imperial subject. My cousin prefers to have me under his eye. He shows no signs of changing his mind.”

Crowley handed him a clean nightshirt and they were silent as he dressed. Finally he said, “I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale let out a long breath. “It’s quite all right, my dear. People face much worse things every day.” He looked up with a small smile. “And I am very grateful to have met you. That would never have happened had I remained at home.”

Crowley touched his face. “I’m grateful too.”

Aziraphale rested his hand on Crowley’s and for a long moment they smiled into each other’s eyes. Then Crowley leaned in to kiss him gently. When he pulled back, Aziraphale looked down uncertainly. “I-- I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I feel up to-- I nearly fell asleep in the bath and--”

Crowley rested his fingers over his mouth. “It’s fine, angel. You’re exhausted. You don’t owe me sex every night just because we’ve been having fun.” He cocked his head. “Would you rather I slept out here? ‘S no big deal.”

Aziraphale reached for him instinctively. “No, no, I’d very much like you to-- but if you’d prefer to sleep elsewhere when we aren’t, ah, I mean, of course that’s fine, you can sleep wherever you’d like--”

Crowley stopped him with a kiss. “I’d like to be with you.”

“Oh.” He smiled. “Oh. Good.”

Crowley chuckled. “Yes. Good. Sleeping together is nice, with or without the mind-blowing sex. I like it.”

That night, as Aziraphale drifted off to sleep wrapped in Crowley’s arms, he thought it was funny that somehow, this felt like the most intimate thing they had done yet—holding each other all night, just because they liked it.

“Don’t know if I’ll see you tonight, angel. They’ve got us all pulled in to help with this banquet and I think we’ll be cleaning up past dawn.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry, my dear. I shall miss you.”

“Me too. Will I see you there?”

“Perhaps. I’ll likely be able to make my escape early, before the carousing starts. But if we do see each other…”

“I know, I know. You’re my irritating master who’s been on my case for not filing his toenails correctly.”

“Really. You need not make me sound _that_ unpleasant.”

“So I should act like you’re my very _nice_ master, who is _pleasant_ enough to spread his gorgeous legs for me every night so I can do _this?”_

_“Crowley!”_

Two nights later Aziraphale entered his rooms with a cheery greeting already on his lips, but it went unspoken when he saw the room was empty. Crowley was nearly always back before him, hypothetically so he could prepare the room for his master’s return. Aziraphale frowned. Surely after having kept him up all the previous night they could have let him off on time at the very least. 

Disappointed, he went into the bedroom to change into something more comfortable-- only to find Crowley, sprawled on the bed like he’d collapsed there and completely dead to the world.

“Oh!” he squeaked in surprise, but quickly hushed himself. Crowley was exhausted. Well, Aziraphale could take care of _him_ a bit for once. He changed quickly, blew out the lamps, and crawled into bed beside Crowley. Gently, he loosened the other man’s hair where it was tied back, enjoying the opportunity to ease his fingers through the red locks. 

Crowley sighed, but didn’t move. Aziraphale then started carefully removing his clothes.

He stirred at that. “Mmph. ‘Ziraphl?” he mumbled.

“Relax, dear. Just making you more comfortable.”

“Nnng.” He woke up a little more. “Mmm. Sorry. Didn’ meanta sleep. I’m ‘wake.”

“Well, go back to sleep, then. You need rest.”

“Nuh uh. Wanta see you.”

“I’m right here, dearest. If you could move just a little-- yes. Under the blankets will be much nicer. Here.”

Aziraphale drew him close. Crowley grumbled a bit, then settled, face tucked against Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale began stroking his hair gently, and his breathing slowly evened out again. Aziraphale smiled into the darkness, and closed his eyes.

Having fallen asleep so early, Aziraphale woke up well before his normal hour. Crowley, making up for a lost night of sleep, did not. As the sounds of bustle from the hallway increased, Aziraphale bit his lip. Crowley would get in trouble if he didn’t turn up for his duties soon. Well, perhaps he could make his awakening a bit more pleasant.

First, he started running his fingers through Crowley’s coppery hair. He always liked that. Crowley made a small sound and smiled a little, but didn’t wake. Aziraphale moved his hands down to massage his shoulders, then his chest. Crowley made a pleased noise, and his eyes started to flutter open. Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed him.

“Mmm. Angel. ‘S nice. So nice to me.”

“Good morning, darling. How do you feel?”

“ ‘S goooood.”

Aziraphale moved his mouth down his lover’s body. “And would you mind if I made you feel better still, before you go?”

“Hmm?” Crowley raised his head to look down at Aziraphale, blinking sleepily.

Aziraphale pressed a kiss into Crowley’s sharp hip. He gazed up at him through his eyelashes, lips hovering just over his cock.

“Oh, fuck, _yes,_ ” Crowley groaned, suddenly alert.

Aziraphale smiled provocatively, then ran his tongue up the underside of Crowley’s cock, from base to tip.

“Oooohhh, _fuck_.” Crowley fell back against the pillows.

Aziraphale considered their arrangement thoughtfully. Dissatisfied, he sat up and tugged Crowley’s hips until his legs were hanging off the bed. Then he climbed out of bed and knelt on the floor. He ran his hands up those muscular, long legs on either side of him. Then he took Crowley’s cock in his mouth and sank down all the way to the root.

“Holy _fuck,_ angel!” Crowley shouted, jerking in shock.

Aziraphale stayed where he was for a moment, nose pressed against Crowley’s groin, enjoying the burn of Crowley’s cock against the back of his throat. Then he began to move, up and down, taking him as deep as he could every time.

 _“Sh-shit,”_ Crowley gasped, staring down at him with wide eyes. “Never-- never thought I’d have-- royalty on their knees for me,” he laughed breathlessly.

Aziraphale pulled off. “I’ll kneel for you any time you like,” he said, voice dark with desire.

“Ooohhh, shit,” Crowley moaned. Aziraphale began sucking him again, long and deep. He gagged a little, but it felt good. It felt _right_ , to be on his knees at Crowley’s feet. He felt possessed, owned, like Crowley was the only master he had to serve. His own cock had started aching between his legs. If only he could stay here forever, kneeling for Crowley, fulfilling his desires in any way he pleased, knowing he was _safe_ in Crowley’s power.

 _Pretending,_ whispered a voice at the back of his mind.

Just then, Crowley sat up and gripped the back of his neck. “Look at me,” he commanded, and Aziraphale did, pink lips still stretched around his cock. Crowley exhaled harshly. “Do you like this?” Aziraphale nodded. “Then touch yourself for me, angel,” he breathed, fingers tightening in Aziraphale’s hair. “I want you to come for me while I fuck your pretty mouth.”

Aziraphale moaned, and a shudder went through Crowley as the vibrations rippled through his cock. Then Aziraphale reached under his nightshirt to grip himself, and Crowley was holding his head firmly while he thrust his hips in and out, taking him as he had taken him so many times before, and like so many times before Aziraphale was helpless in the face of it, whimpering and touching himself desperately. With a deep groan Crowley came down his throat, and Aziraphale was coming into his hand, feeling marked and possessed inside and out.

He collapsed, head resting on Crowley’s thigh. Then Crowley was reaching down to him, pulling him back up onto the bed, winding himself around Aziraphale. “Good morning, beautiful,” he murmured. “Trying to prove you’re perfect in every _possible_ way?”

Aziraphale pressed his face into Crowley’s chest. “You had a hard day,” he mumbled. “I wanted to take care of _you_ for once.”

Crowley held him closer. “You always take care of me.”

“You’re going to be late,” Aziraphale warned him, unable to muster any real sense of urgency.

“Eh. They’ll wait. You’re more important,” he answered airily.

“I’m afraid I’ll be back very late tomorrow night, my dear. You shouldn’t wait up for me.”

“Some new horrendous social activity you’re being subjected to, angel?”

“Not so dreadful this time. It’s the anniversary of some military victory or other and a few of the court mages have prepared a fireworks display.”

“Fireworks? Sounds more your taste than hunting, anyway.”

 _“Definitely._ ”

Crowley kicked at the fire, which had started to die. Aziraphale made a protesting sound from his lap.

“Darling, you’re going to set yourself on fire. I’ll get up so we can fix it properly.”

“Nahhh. Too comfortable.” He tightened his arms until he was sure Aziraphale had given up on moving. “You know, I don’t think I’ve seen any mages since I got here. Do they have their own wing or something?”

“No, there just aren’t very many of them. No mages of any real power are allowed at court; they have their own little city down in the south with its own deeply unpleasant political games.”

Crowley laughed. “Why keep them separate? Seems like a good way to end up with a coup, having them all together without a ruler to keep an eye on them.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Perhaps, but the Empire has some nasty history with mages who got too close to the throne. Traditionally this has been considered the lesser of two evils.”

“Guess imperial family members eliminate each other fast enough without mages being involved.” Crowley craned his head to look at Aziraphale. “What happened with that, anyway? Nine emperors and heirs dead in two years. Do you think your cousin planned it?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “He’s never struck me as clever enough to have masterminded something that elaborate, but it’s possible. I’ve always assumed that he simply seized the opportunity created by someone else’s machinations. The servants who were here when all of it was going on would know much more than I do, though.”

“Too busy to track court politics back then?”

“I never expected it to affect me. None of them were going to rule any differently than the others, so what did it matter for me or anyone I knew?” Aziraphale’s eyes went dark and distant, and Crowley cursed himself for reminding him of his old life and the home he might not see again for years.

Aziraphale shook his head and forced a smile. “Speaking of our histories, you’ve never actually told me what brought you to the imperial palace. You’re a long way from home, yourself.”

Crowley grasped at the new subject. “Oh, I’ve always liked to travel. Never stay in one place very long. Get bored too easily.” He winked at Aziraphale. “Good to get away from all the angry wives and husbands, too. They start to build up after a while.”

“Oh, good lord. Should I be worried that you’re about to be run out of the city by the jealous spouses of your multitude of lovers? I should like some warning.”

“Not unless there’s something you haven’t been telling me, angel.”

“Certainly not. You’re quite enough trouble for me to deal with all by yourself, my dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a typical approach to an exclusivity conversation, but they both know what they mean :)  
> Up next: the plot thickens!  
> Thank you all so much for the comments, I live for them.


	5. Chapter 5

“Hey, what happened to your arm, angel?”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale blinked up at him through a post-orgasmic haze.

“That’s a nasty bruise. What happened?”

“Oh--oh, that.” He looked at the purple mark that spread across his arm near the shoulder. “I must have bumped into a wall, or something. I’m not sure.”

Crowley kissed it, making him giggle. “Well, be more careful, all right? I have a vested interest in you staying in one piece.”

He didn’t think much of the fact that Aziraphale didn’t meet his eyes when he answered, “Of course, my dear.”

He thought of it a few nights later, though, when he found a deep blue mark circling one of Aziraphale’s wrists.

“Oh, I got my hand caught in one of the curtain ties. Silly of me, really, I kept tugging on it instead of untangling myself. Lucky I didn’t bring the whole thing down.”

“Okay,” Crowley said quietly, looking at the mark. “Try to take care of yourself for me, yeah?”

Aziraphale agreed, and kissed him, and Crowley let himself be pulled back into the moment, ignoring the uneasy feeling at the pit of his stomach. Aziraphale had no reason to lie to him. People got funny little injuries all the time. He tried not to think too hard about where he had seen marks like that before: on people who’d been grabbed, hard enough to bruise.

He didn’t say anything when he uncovered the large, spreading bruise on Aziraphale’s stomach. He just listened to his lover’s nervous excuses with lowered eyes, then claimed he’d had a long day and rolled over to sleep. It was his first time sleeping without Aziraphale in his arms in weeks.

Behind him, he heard Aziraphale start to say something, then fall silent. He stared into the dark and fought the sick, angry feeling in his heart. Aziraphale didn’t have to tell him everything. He had a right to have secrets if he wanted to. They were just sleeping together. And friends. That was it. He didn’t owe Crowley anything.

“That looks painful,” he said quietly.

Aziraphale instinctively touched his rapidly swelling black eye, and flinched. “I-- I just--” he began, then stopped at the look on Crowley’s face.

Crowley turned away. “Think I’ll sleep out here tonight, angel. Probably a cooler bed will be better for the swelling, anyway.”

“ _Crowley--_ ” His voice broke. Crowley stopped, torn between anger and the intense desire to turn and comfort him. He heard Aziraphale pull in a shuddering breath. “I-- I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have-- I’ll tell you. What’s been going on. It’s just-- I didn’t want-- It’s difficult for me to--” He faltered, eyes squeezing shut. _“Just please don’t go._ ”

Crowley had him in his arms before he knew what he was doing. He’d never heard that awful, desperate sound in Aziraphale’s voice before. Like he’d do anything to stop Crowley leaving him.

Aziraphale gripped his shirt with white fingers. Crowley kissed the top of his head fiercely. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Just--” He pulled back enough to look into those damp blue eyes. “Just don’t lie to me about it anymore, okay?”

Aziraphale nodded, holding his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said in a choked whisper.

Crowley kissed him hard. “Let me go get some ice for that, all right?” He traced a finger down Aziraphale’s cheek.

He nodded wordlessly, but that terrible frightened look hadn’t left his eyes.

Crowley rubbed his arms comfortingly. “I’ll be right back, I promise. Who else around here would I steal wine from, anyway?”

Aziraphale smiled tremulously.

Crowley ran all the way to the kitchens and all the way back.

In bed that night they moved slowly, careful with each other. They spoke little, kept their sounds of pleasure quiet. When Crowley came with a gasp, Aziraphale’s hands were cupped around his face, looking up at him as if his gaze alone could keep him there. It felt for the first time like this thing between them was fragile, and both of them desperate to keep it whole.

  
  


Crowley was lounging by the fire, waiting for Aziraphale to return. The past few nights had been better; there had been no new mysterious injuries, and they had started to lose their tentativeness with each other, to relax and feel comfortable again. He was looking forward to another good night. 

Loud voices approached from the hallway. Crowley frowned. Was that Aziraphale?

“Oh, don’t you walk away from me! We _are_ talking about this!”

“Ana, for--”

Crowley hesitated, then ducked into the bedroom, shutting the door a second before he heard the outer door open and then firmly close.

“Ana, please. You are overreacting, and I have _begged_ you not to make a public scene over this.”

“Overre-- Az, are you _mad?_ Are you really so naive that you think you can keep going like this? _He’ll kill you!”_

“Now, I really think--”

“He will! Do you think he won’t do it? You’ve seen enough, you know what goes on here! You can’t just keep defying the emperor and expect not to face consequences! You have to _give_ him something, you have to--”

Aziraphale’s patience cracked.

“And what, exactly, would you propose I do?” he snapped. “Beat some poor innocent bloody for having annoyed the emperor, just so he can watch me do it? Harm a child to prove my loyalty? Murder someone? How _many_ other people’s lives are worth destroying to save mine, do you think?” He paused, waiting pointedly for a response. “Where would _you_ draw the line?”

The woman-- Anathema, Crowley recognized her voice from the kitchens-- was silent for a long moment. “A lot of people will benefit if you live to take the throne, Aziraphale,” she said quietly, subdued.

Aziraphale laughed. In the other room, Crowley flinched. He had never heard such a bitter, humorless sound come out of Aziraphale’s mouth. “And you called _me_ naive.” His voice was almost pitying. “He’ll never allow me to become emperor. You must realize that. He hates me. He’s always hated me. When I heard that he had taken the throne, I hoped that he might decide I was too much trouble, just pretend I didn’t exist and let me live out my days in peace. But I knew when I was summoned here that I was going to my death.”

Crowley froze.

“No,” Anathema whispered. “No, that’s not--”

“Ana, please, you know I’m right. There’s nothing I could do or not do that would make any difference at all.” He just sounded tired. “He’d just keep commanding me to do more and more despicable things until I finally refused, so I might as well refuse first as last. The best outcome I can hope for is to die with some dignity.”

“Az--” she choked out. She drew a breath. “What can I do?” she asked, her voice full of grief.

“Help me make it worth it,” he answered fiercely. “Help me make my life mean something, whatever happens to me.”

Crowley stared sightlessly into the air, eyes shuttling back and forth. The bruises. Aziraphale’s sorrow over leaving his home. The desperate way he made love sometimes, like he was trying to forget something. He was really much too cautious to fall into bed with a man he’d just met, wasn’t he. Under normal circumstances. Even this room. Crowley blinked and looked around as if seeing it for the first time. They’d made love on practically every surface, and Crowley had always felt warm and happy here, surrounded by good memories, but-- no windows. No side door or discreet servants’ entrance. Only one way in or out. 

A comfortable prison, for a prince waiting to die.

Aziraphale opened the bedroom door with a sigh, his shoulders slumped. He jerked when he saw Crowley. He went rigid, staring at his lover as the color drained from his face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. 

“Were you going to tell me?” Crowley asked flatly.

“It’s-- not exactly a pleasant topic,” he whispered, deflecting. He wouldn’t meet Crowley’s eyes.

_“Aziraphale.”_

“I just-- I didn’t--” Aziraphale looked up at him suddenly. “Oh, you could find yourself in a difficult position, afterwards, couldn’t you? I’m so sorry, I hadn’t thought of that, too focused on my own problems-- I’ll talk to Anathema, I’m sure she can arrange for other employment for you, something you’d like, so you’ll know--”

_“Aziraphale!”_ he snapped, cutting him off. “You really think I-- that I’m worried about--” He stared at him in anger and disbelief. “That’s _not_ why I wanted to _know!”_

“Oh.” Aziraphale retreated, pulling in on himself. “Oh. I-- Of course not. I apologize.” He took a deep breath, looking down. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I do. I just-- it’s been nice, you not knowing. It’s let me-- pretend. Just for a little while. That none of it is happening.” His gaze was fixed on his hands, gripping each other tightly. “Selfish of me. I’m sorry.”

Crowley nodded slowly, eyes fixed on Aziraphale. “So why hasn’t he done it yet?” he asked abruptly.

Aziraphale looked up, startled. “What?”

“You sounded sure the emperor plans to kill you. But you’ve been here months, and nothing’s happened. What is he waiting for?” His voice was dry and emotionless.

“Well, we do have _laws_ , Crowley.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

Aziraphale exhaled in a humorless laugh. “Well, more to the point-- as you’ve observed, nine people died to put him on the throne. He hasn’t spent his entire life building alliances and making himself indispensable to the right people, the way a normal imperial heir would. He needs the support of the nobility to consolidate his power. And whatever they may think of me, I _am_ a member of the nobility.” He toyed with his signet ring. “None of them much like the idea of an emperor who executes nobles on a whim.”

“But you don’t think that will be enough to stop him.”

He shook his head. “If I were popular or powerful, maybe. As it is-- every time he gives me an order that I refuse, he builds his case, shows the court that he’s not acting without warning or excuse. And-- he’s been testing the waters. The, ah, injuries, the humiliation-- it’s all been very public. He’s fishing to see if I have allies, anyone who will speak in my defense. He’s learning that I don’t.”

“And when he’s sure, he’ll kill you.”

“Yes.” He stared blankly at the floor.

“Aziraphale, why haven’t you _run?”_ he asked incredulously. “This place is like a sieve. I could have you out of here right now, if you wanted me to.”

Aziraphale laughed hollowly. “As little as I enjoy my current situation, I do feel it’s preferable to starving to death in the woods. You may not have noticed, but wilderness survival is not one of my skills.”

“The _woods?_ There must be people back home you could go to, people who would help-- you could get out of the country, get a job somewhere with a new name, you’re clever enough--”

“Yes. And I would be hunted for the rest of my life, endangering everyone who helped me or even knew me.” He shook his head. “He would never stop. He can’t afford to have a missing heir, and he would torture and execute anyone who was even suspected of assisting me. And he would be right-- there are plenty of noble houses who’d like to be the power behind a puppet emperor. They’d be searching for me too, and there are plenty of ways they could get control over me. It makes a wonderful excuse for a palace coup, an heir-in-exile.” He shrugged. “Life under the thumb of whichever of them proved to be the most ruthless does not sound like a significant improvement to me. Certainly not enough to put other people’s lives at risk.” He sighed. “It isn’t as if I haven’t had time to think through the possibilities, Crowley.”

“So your plan is to stay here and wait for him to do it.”

“Yes.”

They were silent. Crowley’s eyes ran over him, re-learning the man he’d thought he knew so well. Aziraphale’s knuckles had gone white. He stared at the floor, expressionless. 

Finally he took a breath and met Crowley’s eyes. His voice was calm and distant. “You can go, Crowley. It’s all right. I will be fine. You do not need to continue to entangle yourself with a condemned man. I am perfectly capable of managing on my own.”

Crowley stared at his lover. Aziraphale was cold, remote, rigidly upright and absolutely controlled. He blinked, and saw in his mind’s eye the Aziraphale of just a few days earlier, desperate and terrified and pleading with him not to go. He watched him brace himself to face the end entirely alone, and he understood why Aziraphale had not told him the truth.

Crowley held out his hand. “Come here, Aziraphale.”

He stepped toward him, uncomprehending. “What?”

“Come here.”

He closed the rest of the distance between them. Crowley stood up. Aziraphale took his hand tentatively, looking up at him with confusion in his eyes.

“What are you doing, Crowley?”

Crowley wound their fingers together, then tipped Aziraphale’s chin up with careful fingers. “You said it was nice to pretend.” He pulled him closer, and hissed against his lips: “ _Pretend with me.”_

Aziraphale sucked in a shaky breath, his icy hard control starting to fray. “You can’t want this.”

_“I do._ Will you?”

Aziraphale’s lips trembled. He nodded, unable to speak. Crowley kissed him, dragging him closer, pulling him onto the bed. They tore at each other’s clothes clumsily, lips never leaving each other, desperate for more touch, more closeness, more of the intimacy they had both thought might be over.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms and legs around Crowley and hung on frantically, as if he thought at any moment Crowley might be torn away from him. “Please, please, I need--”

“What?” Crowley’s arms were tight around him. “Tell me.”

“I need you.” Aziraphale’s voice broke. “I need you.”

Crowley kissed him fiercely. “You have me.”

In a moment Crowley was entering him, slowly, gently rocking himself deeper as Aziraphale tightened his legs around his hips. Aziraphale hung on around his shoulders, face twisted with the effort to hold onto his composure and keep back tears.

“It’s all right,” Crowley whispered, propping himself up on one arm, burying his fingers in his hair while the other hand went down to stroke him slowly, in time with his thrusts. “Just be here with me. It’s all right.”

Aziraphale nodded and squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head to kiss Crowley’s wrist. Crowley kept his movements slow, and gradually he saw Aziraphale start to relax, to get lost in the tide of pleasure and release his sharp-edged terror.

This time his orgasm came in slow waves, building with Crowley’s gentle motions until it washed over him with a gasp. Crowley started to move away and Aziraphale stopped him. “Please, I want-- I want to feel you inside me tonight.”

He nodded, golden eyes gleaming in the lamplight. He kept his movements careful, biting down on the desire to speed up, and finally he spilled inside Aziraphale, back arching with pleasure, sweaty hair hanging raggedly in his face.

He sank down onto the bed and wrapped Aziraphale tight in his arms. They lay there silently for long enough that he thought Aziraphale might have fallen asleep. Then he said, face buried in Crowley’s chest, “Thank you for staying.”

Crowley scoffed lightly, forcing a lump out of his throat. “Gonna ruin my reputation, angel. Talking like this is some _gift_ I’m giving you. ‘S completely selfish.” He ran a hand through his lover’s hair. “I’m here because I want to be here. There is no other reason,” he said firmly.

Aziraphale cuddled closer. “Thank you,” he whispered.

They blew out the lamps and slowly, Aziraphale’s tension ebbed and he finally drifted off to sleep. Crowley did not.

He had never been a particularly forward-thinking person. He’d always believed in living in the moment and taking whatever it offered him, an attitude that had introduced him to all kinds of interesting people and gotten him involved in entertaining situations. Gotten him into a fair bit of trouble, too, but never more than he could talk his way out of tomorrow. Tomorrow would take care of itself, he’d always thought. It always had.

Aziraphale shifted in his arms, making a quiet sound in his sleep. Crowley lay awake, staring into the dark, and he thought about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...soooo what do you all think???  
> I've been waiting to get to this point in the story since the beginning, and I hope it works well! I'm dying to hear what you all think of it!


	6. Chapter 6

When Aziraphale returned the following night, he was tense. Crowley heard him pause for a moment before opening the door, and watched the relief and uncertainty that chased each other across his face when he saw that Crowley was waiting for him. 

His hands gripped each other as he braced himself and started on what sounded like a prepared speech: “Crowley, I know what I said last night might have made you feel that you have-- an obligation, to me, but I want to assure you that you really don’t have to-- _mmph!”_

Crowley decided he was tired of this speech and cut it off with his mouth. When he pulled back, Aziraphale’s eyes were wide. “Angel. I hardly _ever_ do _anything_ I don’t want to do. Haven’t you figured that out by now?” He kissed him again.

Aziraphale melted a little in his embrace. “Ye-yes, I suppose you… don’t…” Hesitantly, he moved his arms around Crowley’s neck. Crowley pulled him a little closer. “You can’t blame me for worrying, though,” he mumbled. “Ever since we met you’ve shown me nothing but kindness and consideration. I haven’t had any experience of this selfishness you talk about.”

Crowley nuzzled against his cheek. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I show up here every night, skive off work, drink wine, and ravish the most beautiful man in the palace. You’re the kind one,” He pressed a kiss to his temple. “Letting me do it.”

Aziraphale pulled back to look up at him uncertainly. “Are you _sure_ , Crowley? This is… not at all what you signed up for, what you thought we were doing. It’s…” He looked down. “It means a great deal to me, I don’t suppose there’s any point in denying that now. But I couldn’t live with myself if I thought you were staying when you wanted to go.”

He smiled, a little crookedly. “I’m sure, angel. I wouldn’t fake something like that. I promise.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “You wouldn’t, would you.”

His eyes were fixed on Crowley’s face with that rapt expression that he remembered from their first night together-- as if Crowley were a dream that he couldn’t quite believe existed. Crowley took his arms and guided them both to the armchair. Aziraphale followed easily and let himself be pulled into Crowley’s lap. Their arms wrapped around each other securely, and Crowley could feel some of the tension run out of Aziraphale at the warm familiarity of it.

Crowley braced himself to try something. “How was today?” he asked softly.

Aziraphale let his breath out in a sigh. “It was fine. No… dramatics, today. It was the duchess of Linea’s birthday, so everyone was quite distracted with the celebrations.”

Crowley made a face. “Isn’t she the one with those two horrible little dogs that follow her around everywhere?”

Aziraphale tutted disapprovingly. “She’s very attached to those dogs, I’ll have you know, and I’m sure they’re very… cute.”

“Not attached enough to bloody well clean up after them. They piss all over everything.”

Aziraphale choked on a laugh. “They _do_ , don’t they? And no one _ever_ says anything, she’s _so_ wealthy and they’d all hate to lose whatever chance they have of getting something from her...”

Crowley relaxed. This was good. They could still talk, without pretending that Aziraphale wasn’t in trouble. They could still be normal and happy together in spite of the truth.

Later that evening, Crowley was particularly dedicated to being _distracting_. It had always been clear that Aziraphale liked to be overwhelmed by sensation and lose himself in their lovemaking. Now that Crowley knew _why_ , he was… determined.

Aziraphale appeared _quite_ distracted at the moment. Crowley had him lying facedown on the bed, wrists trapped above his head by one of Crowley’s hands, naked body pinned under Crowley’s bare torso, while he slowly worked him open with one hand. He had been at it for a while. Aziraphale was gasping and writhing, trying to get some friction against his aching cock, but Crowley held him down, allowing him only enough to tease. His fingers were buried deep, but they only played with him, never entirely abandoning that sweet spot, but never giving him enough to make him come.

Aziraphale had been open enough for some time, but Crowley was enjoying this too much to stop-- his soft body, helpless beneath his own, his moans of arousal, his desire. It was all so unlike the tension and distance of the past few days.

“Please, Crowley, I need more, please, please, I can’t--”

“No, beautiful angel,” Crowley purred in his ear. “I know what you need, my pretty thing. You need to give in to this. Stop fighting. You’re going to feel this pleasure, exactly how I want you to, for as long as I decide. Maybe I’ll keep you like this all night long. You’re so beautiful like this, aching for more. Almost as beautiful as when I open you up with my cock.” He gave a particularly hard thrust with his fingers, and Aziraphale wailed. He smiled. “You’re going to wait for as long as I want you to. You’re going to come when I decide to give it to you. And you’re going to be _so good_ for me. Aren’t you, my sweetheart?”

Aziraphale whimpered. “Yes, yes, Crowley, I want it, I need it, _Crowley…”_

Crowley ground his own hard cock against Aziraphale’s hip, and Aziraphale moaned. “It’s going to feel so good when I take you, isn’t it? My perfect angel. Don’t I always give you what you need?”

 _“Yes_ , always, always, Crowley…” he gasped.

“And right now I have you just the way I want you.” He mouthed below his ear. “Relax. Just feel. Accept it. Trust me. Because you’re _mine_. Aren’t you?”

 _“Yes_ ,” he breathed. “Oh, _yes.”_ Aziraphale went pliant, stopped fighting to push back against his fingers or forward into the mattress. His body moved easily under Crowley’s long fingers, and he moaned openly at his caresses. He surrendered.

Crowley smiled. He kept him there for a few more long moments, enjoying the sight of Aziraphale giving in to him completely. Then he released him.

Aziraphale lay there, still, shuddering a little with arousal, waiting for what Crowley would give to him next. Crowley’s smile was sharp with desire.

“Oh, _yes_ , so good for me, so perfect,” he murmured. He gripped Aziraphale across the hips and shoulders and guided them both up onto their knees, spreading Aziraphale’s thighs wide across his own. His lover’s head fell back against his shoulder, his back pressed against Crowley’s chest. Crowley took the opportunity to lean in and kiss him, slowly and deeply. Without moving his lips away, he gently raised Aziraphale by the hips and slowly, torturously, pushed inside of him.

Aziraphale whimpered. Crowley didn’t move, just let his cock sink as deep as it would go and stayed there. He took Aziraphale’s wrists in his hands and guided them to the mattress on either side of them. “Keep them there,” he whispered.

Aziraphale was lost. He was spread wide open on Crowley’s lap, speared on his cock, held helpless and still by his lover’s hands and his will. His body trembled with the desire to move, to touch himself, to chase the orgasm he could feel so close, but instead he waited for what Crowley would do to him. For the pleasure that Crowley would give him.

Then Crowley’s hands began to move. They caressed his chest and his thighs, played with his nipples in a way that made him shiver, sending pleasure coursing through him as he moved involuntarily on Crowley’s cock. Then Crowley’s hands settled: one grasping his hip, holding him firmly, and the other one ghosting across his throbbing erection.

He cried out and arched into the touch, gasping at the way his movement pressed Crowley deeper inside him, increasingly desperate for more.

“Ohhh, my angel. Yes. Are you ready for me to fuck you, my sweetheart?”

 _“Yes,”_ he whimpered helplessly. “Yes, yes, please, Crowley, oh please, I want you, I want you so much…”

“I’ll always give you what you want,” he whispered, and then he was thrusting into him, over and over again, hand wrapping around his aching cock, taking him hard and deep. Aziraphale thought he might faint at the pleasure that overwhelmed him on all sides after so many light touches. He let it take him, arching desperately in Crowley’s arms, helpless cries spilling from his lips. There was nothing but Crowley and what they made each other feel, and he let the ecstasy of their bodies moving together consume him.

When he came back to earth, as always, he was tucked into bed and wrapped in Crowley’s arms. He nuzzled against him, smiling woozily.

“I wasn’t sleeping much before you came here the first time,” he mumbled thoughtlessly. “It’s nice. So nice to sleep with you.”

Crowley kissed his cheek. “Good.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t seem real.”

Aziraphale didn’t often talk about what the emperor was doing to him. Sometimes, though, in the darkness, the words would spill out.

“I look around at this glittering court with these petty, silly people and their fine clothes and polite little rituals, and I think, nothing here could possibly be _dangerous_. This… flimsy world. There’s no substance, just foolish games for prestige and popularity. But then the claws come out.”

Aziraphale shivered. Crowley’s hand traced slow circles on his back in the darkness. “The curtain pulls back, and I’m reminded… what they really are. What it means, to have so much power and be so careless with it. That someone always pays a price for that, and for the first time it’s going to be me.” Crowley’s jaw tightened, but he kept his caresses smooth and steady. “Have you ever had one of those nightmares, where you’re screaming in a room full of people and no one seems to hear?” His voice was distant. “They all know, now, what he’s planning to do. Almost any of them could stop it. It wouldn’t take much, just enough of a protest to make him think it wasn’t worth the risk. But they won’t.” He shook his head. “They won’t do anything. Because why would they when there’s nothing for them to gain? They’ll just keep drinking their champagne and turn their eyes away. Until it’s over.” He sighed. “I suppose it shows what kind of life I’ve had till now, but it still shocks me that whether I live or die could matter so _little_ to the people around me.”

“It matters to me,” Crowley said roughly, keeping a tight leash on the emotion in his voice.

“I know, darling.” Aziraphale nuzzled closer into Crowley’s neck. “Thank you for that. It makes a great deal of difference.”

Another night, when they were finished making love, Aziraphale didn’t let go of him. “Crowley,” he whispered, still breathless from what they had been doing, “you should know-- you can’t _possibly_ know-- how much this means to me.”

Crowley stroked his hair, wiped the sweat off his face tenderly. “I know, angel, I do.”

“I don’t think you can,” he said, and a hand touched Crowley’s cheek in the darkness. “I thought, when I came here,” he swallowed. “I thought my life was over. I thought all that was left was to bear whatever I had to until he ended it. And try not to disgrace myself. But now,” his voice trembled. “Now I know-- every day, no matter what happens to me, I always know-- that when I make it back here-- you’ll be there.” His breath hitched, and the rest came in a rush. “It-- it makes such a difference, Crowley, to not be alone, to have something good, something to think of when it gets-- bad--”

Crowley couldn’t bear it anymore. He crushed Aziraphale close and kissed him, throat aching with promises he didn’t dare make. Aziraphale was kissing him back, clutching at him, and he could feel his cheeks damp with the tears he was fighting to suppress.

Finally he spoke, with the only promise he _could_ make. “I’ll always be here. As long as you want me. Always.”

“I know,” he whispered unexpectedly. “I know you will be, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed seeing them find their way into a bit of a "new normal" (for now).  
> Comments bring me great joy. Thank you to everyone who's been commenting! I read them obsessively.


	7. Chapter 7

Crowley heard raised voices approaching down the hallway and almost knocked over the table he got up so fast. _Aziraphale_. He was halfway to the door when he paused, only because Aziraphale’s voice sounded angry, not frightened or hurt.

The door snapped open. “--and I am _terribly_ flattered, your Grace,” he said angrily, blocking the opening, “but I am afraid I have decided to join a monastery!” He slammed the door in the other man’s face and turned, scowling.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “That’s sad news for me,” he said mildly.

Aziraphale huffed an angry laugh and stalked over to the wine. “Congratulate me, my dear,” he said sarcastically. “I’ve just received a _very_ flattering offer of marriage.” He poured himself a glass of wine and drank it down in one swallow.

Crowley’s eyebrows went higher. “What brought that on?”

He poured himself another glass. “The Duke of Terres would like me to marry him and cede my claim to the throne to him. In exchange for which, he will see to it that my cousin is assassinated before he has a chance to kill me, thus guaranteeing the imperial throne to himself.” He drank deeply. “It’s all _very_ romantic,” he said acidly, and collapsed into the armchair.

“Why didn’t you take it?” Crowley asked thoughtfully.

Aziraphale stared at him.

Crowley grinned ironically. “I may be a jealous bastard, Aziraphale, but I’d prefer you alive to be jealous over. Why not take it?”

“Well, it wouldn’t work, for one thing. Once he was firmly on the throne I’m sure I would live _exactly_ as long as it took for him to get annoyed with me,” he said caustically. “And for another, while the current emperor is certainly no prize, I am not going to be responsible for replacing him with an _actual_ sadist.” Crowley gave him a skeptical look. Aziraphale smiled sardonically. “Oh, he’s not a sadist. He hurts me because he dislikes me, personally, not because he finds it amusing to hurt people generally. The duke, on the other hand,” His lips tightened. “I’ve heard stories of what’s happened to the people he’s taken to his bed. Servants, usually, or others who aren’t in a position to defend themselves. They generally need medical attention. Sometimes the injuries are permanent.” His chin went up. “I won’t be part of placing a man like that on the throne.”

Crowley leaned his chin on a hand and frowned thoughtfully. “Couldn’t you double-cross him first? Convince him to kill the emperor before your marriage, or have him assassinated yourself after he’s taken care of that, before things go too far?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Maybe you could manage something like that, dear, but I can’t. Betrayal is as common as mud around here, and he’d be expecting it. I didn’t grow up at court. I’m not good at politicking or temporary alliances or deceit. If I try to play that game, I’ll lose.” He sighed. “The best I can do is make sure I don’t hurt anyone when I do go. And anyway,” He looked up at Crowley with a glimmer of a smile. “My attentions are otherwise engaged.”

Crowley grinned back at him, caught off guard, and for once there was no trace of lust or teasing or humor in his smile. Just warmth.

Aziraphale’s smile brightened, caught in that warm affection like a flower moving toward the sun. 

Suddenly his face fell, his eyes widening in realization. “I’m such a fool,” he whispered.

“Angel, what is it?” Crowley said urgently, moving toward him, reaching for him, but Aziraphale had stood and turned away.

“You should leave,” he said abruptly. “You should leave, and you shouldn’t--” His breath caught. “--you shouldn’t come back.”

“What? No! Aziraphale, we’ve been through this--” But Aziraphale was shaking his head, over and over.

“I’m such an idiot-- selfish-- myopic-- You know, I used to feel like every time I walked through that door and you were here, everything else disappeared, and it was just us and these rooms, our own warm little world. But it’s not like that, is it?” He turned to face Crowley with a terrible, pained look. “We can’t keep the world out. It’s here. It’s always here.” His hands were clenching into fists. “I should never have let this happen. You’re so clever, I thought you’d found a way that we could have this and it would be safe, but I never-- I didn’t think--” He drew in a shuddering breath and met his eyes. “I’m going to die, Crowley. I’m going to die, and I’ve been acting as if your life will end then too. As if what happens to you afterward is of no account. And I’m sitting here talking so _nobly_ about making sure that no one is hurt by my death, and to _you,_ the _one_ person I _never_ wanted to--” His voice cracked, and he turned away. “You should leave.”

“Angel…” he said softly.

Aziraphale closed his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Crowley. I’ve been such a heartless, callous bastard. But I never-- I never meant to--”

“Make me fall in love with you?” Crowley asked gently.

Aziraphale flinched as if he’d been struck. 

_“All I can ever do is hurt you,”_ he choked.

“I really think I’m the best judge of that.” His voice was quiet and tender.

Aziraphale shook his head again. “You should leave,” he repeated in a whisper.

“Aziraphale.” He rested a hand on his shoulder. “Look me in the eye and tell me you want me to go.”

He raised his head slowly and looked at Crowley with wet eyes. “You know I can’t,” he answered brokenly.

“Then I’m staying.” His other hand found Aziraphale’s. “You don’t get to make this choice for me, angel.” He rubbed soothing circles with his thumb. “I can decide for myself when someone’s worth the risk. Worth the pain.”

A tear escaped and ran down his cheek. “I’m not,” It was almost a sob. “I’m not, I’ve treated you terribly, you’ve done everything for me and all I do is take and take and I--”

Crowley kissed him. “You _are,”_ he whispered. “You are kind and brave and clever and beautiful, and I’m the stupid ass who stumbled into your life and had the sense to hang on tight.” He ran a hand down Aziraphale’s soft cheek, brushing the tears away. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, angel.”

“And soon I’ll be the worst,” he whispered.

Crowley shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that.” He pulled him into his arms. “It’s not-- the good parts don’t go away, if something bad happens later. Whatever we have right now,” He rested his cheek against his hair. “We get to keep.”

Aziraphale buried his face in his shoulder. “I wish I could,” he choked out. “Oh god, I wish I could.”

Crowley rocked him gently. “I’m here,” he murmured. “You can’t make me leave. We’re together, right now. And it’s good, isn’t it?” He nuzzled Aziraphale’s curls. “It’s so good.”

“Yes,” he whispered into Crowley’s shirt. “It is.”

Crowley threw the door open and ran into the room, out of breath. It was at least a quarter hour after the time Aziraphale usually got back, and well past Crowley’s typical arrival time. As he’d worried, Aziraphale was standing and gripping the back of the armchair convulsively, looking pale and frightened. He swung around as soon as Crowley opened the door and emotions chased their way openly across his face. Intense relief. Annoyance. “Crowley! Where were--” He broke off. Yep, there it was. Guilt. “Ah, I mean. How are you?”

Crowley smiled and wrapped his arms around his shaken lover. “It’s all right, angel, you can ask where I’ve been. I’m sorry I was late.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t have to come back here at any particular time in the evening, or at all for that matter, it’s not my place to-- control your comings and goings. I apologize for reacting the way I did.”

Crowley shook his head. “This isn’t exactly a normal situation. ‘Course you were upset. I should’ve been more careful.”

Aziraphale snorted. “Oh yes, you’re _so_ inconsiderate.” He settled into his arms, calming. “What were you doing then? My iniquitous boy.”

Crowley chuckled. _“Lots_ of iniquity. Can’t even tell you about it. Too terrible. You’d have me thrown out of the castle on my ear.”

Aziraphale laughed and smacked his arm lightly. “Ridiculous man.”

“You started it.” Crowley leaned back and attempted to pour a glass of wine without letting go of Aziraphale. Aziraphale laughed and caught the glass just as it started to tip, handing it over with a quelling look. Crowley grinned unrepentantly. “If you _must_ know, I actually got lost.” He made a face and took a drink of wine. “Not very sexy.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “You got _lost?_ In the palace where you’ve been living for the better part of two months?”

“So judgmental, angel.” He flapped a hand at him. “I was exploring new territory. Did you know that there’s a secret passageway from the southern battlements that leads all the way to the east wing? I didn’t expect it to be so _long_. ‘S why I was late.”

“Mmm, and your shirt is all over dust, too. What were you doing crawling around in secret passageways?”

“Adventure, angel! Also, purely incidentally, the cook has been experiencing some marital troubles and is taking her mood out on whoever happens to be nearest. Good time to get out of the line of fire.”

“Mmhmm. And what aren’t you telling me, my dear?”

Crowley looked up in surprise. He hadn’t realized Aziraphale had gotten that good at reading him. He busied himself with refilling his glass and pouring one for Aziraphale. “Place like this isn’t just dangerous for nobles, angel,” he said without looking up. “Anyone can get caught in the middle of something, end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Me, I never like to be anywhere that I couldn’t get out of in a hurry, if I had to.” He passed Aziraphale the wine.

Aziraphale nodded. “I see.” His eyes were locked on Crowley’s face, examining him closely. “This doesn’t have anything to do with some ill-advised rescue plan, does it?”

Crowley barked a laugh. “Wouldn’t need secret passages for that, angel. Just dress you in different clothes and rub some dirt on your face, and we could walk out the front gates. Doesn’t do me any good when you won’t go.”

“Yes.” He fixed Crowley’s eyes with his own. “I hope you understand, my dear, that if you have some mad plan about slipping something into my drink and carrying me away for my own good, I will be _very_ displeased with you.”

“I know.” The next words slipped out without permission. “You’d be alive, though.”

Aziraphale’s lips tightened. “Yes. Briefly.”

“You don’t think I could get us out of here, get far enough away that he’d never find us?” He gestured at the door, a little wildly.

“Perhaps you could. That wouldn’t do much to help Anathema, though. I’ve asked her to keep her distance, but I’m sure there’s someone here who’s noticed that she knows me better than she should. I imagine they’d start with her, when they began torturing people for information on my whereabouts. Then anyone else unlucky to have been near me in the past few days. The next thing they would do would be to go to my home, to torture and kill anyone I might have gone to for help. That would be before they burned the whole place to the ground, just to send a message. But _you and I_ would be safe, probably.” His eyes were burning.

Crowley took a step back involuntarily. “Angel--”

“There are people I care about, people who are like family to me, Crowley. I won’t leave them to pay with their lives while I save my own wretched skin.” He took a breath, calming himself visibly. “None of this is fair to you, Crowley, don’t think I don’t realize that. But we are not the only ones to be considered.” His gaze was unyielding. “I’m not a child. I am perfectly capable of weighing risks and consequences, and you have no right to take this choice from me. A daring rescue might sound very lovely in a storybook, but that is not what we are living. Do you understand me?”

Crowley nodded, looking shaken.

“I need your word. That you won’t try anything of the kind.”

He nodded jerkily. “You have it. I won’t-- try to break you out of here. Without your permission.”

Aziraphale smiled slightly. “I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get.”

“It is.”

Aziraphale softened. “I’m sorry, dear.” He walked toward Crowley and rested a hand on his face. “None of this is your fault. You shouldn’t have to bear any of it. But I can’t…”

Crowley covered Aziraphale’s hand with his own and turned his head to kiss it. “I know, I understand. None of this is _your_ fault, either.”

Aziraphale smiled up at him sadly. Crowley cast about for something to lighten the mood. “So, how _do_ you know Anathema, anyway?”

“Oh, she comes from the village by my home. I _told_ her when I first got here to stay away, but as you could probably tell she’s been fairly lax about doing as I asked.” He made a face.

“Do you know _everyone_ from your hometown that well?”

He smiled. “No, not everyone, but it’s a small town and I spent a good deal of time there. And Anathema has a way of making an impression.”

Crowley did his best “jealous lover” face. “Hmmph. ‘Making an impression.’ Not sure I like the sound of that.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “My dear,” he said quellingly. “She is perhaps fifteen years my junior. And a woman. And married. Not that any of that should matter.”

Crowley raised his hands in laughing surrender. “All right, all right! Looks like it’s my night to be wrong about things.”

Aziraphale’s lips quirked. “Good. It gives you a healthy sense of humility.”

Crowley rested his hands on Aziraphale’s hips and grinned. “Not going to try to soothe your lover’s poor bruised ego?”

“Perhaps if I see any evidence that your ego requires assistance, I shall.”

“Oof. Another cruel blow.” He leaned forward. “Guess I’ll just have to restore my pride all by myself.” He rested his lips on the soft skin behind Aziraphale’s ear and kissed him slowly. Aziraphale inhaled sharply, biting his lip. “Yeah. Feeling better about myself already.” He lowered his head to his lover’s neck and bit down gently. This time Aziraphale couldn’t hold back a small sound. “Mmm. My confidence is really damaged, angel. Think I’ll have to keep going.”

“If-- if you must,” he breathed.

Somehow they ended up sprawled in front of the fire on a bed of their discarded clothes. Crowley had woven their fingers together, pinned Aziraphale’s hands on either side of his head, and spent a long time just lying atop him kissing him. Aziraphale was moaning happily and pressing up against his lithe, hard body, absorbed in the sensation of their lips and tongues caressing each other. Slowly Crowley’s lips moved downward and Aziraphale gasped as they brushed a sensitive place. “Mmmm,” Crowley mumbled against his skin. “My beautiful angel.” He kissed down Aziraphale’s neck, carefully avoiding the livid bruise he’d uncovered earlier. “My sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’re mine. Aren’t you?” His voice cracked unexpectedly.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale tugged his hands free to touch him with concern.

“Sorry,” he said roughly, pressing his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Just need a second, sorry.”

“Crowley, darling, don’t be ridiculous. What’s the matter?” Aziraphale pulled him up to meet his eyes. Crowley’s were wet.

“I just--” He squeezed his eyes shut. “You’re so unhappy. You’re hurt and frightened and I--” He opened his eyes and looked at Aziraphale desperately. “I could make it stop _right now_. I could fix it. And I’m not. I’m not stopping it, I’m just fucking _sitting_ here and I--” He broke off, face twisted.

“Just concentrate your mind on all the people who would die and how furious I would be if you did, darling,” Aziraphale said dryly.

“I _know,”_ he growled. “I _know,_ I _know_ , or we wouldn’t bloody well _be_ here, I just--”

“Shhh,” Aziraphale caressed his face gently. “You have nothing to feel guilty about. Life isn’t always as straightforward as we’d like it to be. Sometimes,” he swallowed. “Sometimes there’s simply nothing to be done.”

“Doesn’t feel that way, angel,” he whispered, resting his forehead Aziraphale’s.

“I know.” He ran a hand through Crowley’s hair. “You’re so brave, dearest. You aren’t used to running up against problems you can’t solve.” He pressed Crowley’s face into the crook of his shoulder. “Satisfy yourself with the knowledge that you’re saving me in every way I could possibly be saved.”

Crowley sniffed. “Not doing anything. Just fucking around here doing nothing while you’re in trouble.”

He stroked up and down Crowley’s back. “You know that isn’t true, dear. I think you know very well how much you’re doing for me, how very happy you make me.” He kissed Crowley’s forehead. “You’re my-- my stars, in the darkest night of my life.”

Crowley humphed. “Stupid metaphor.” His lips curved.

Aziraphale smiled. “You like it. You’re every bit as soppy as I am. Maybe worse,” he added thoughtfully.

“Shut up. I’m ravishing you. You’re being ravished.”

“Oh, yes, darling, you’re very predatory and unfeelingly carnal. Particularly just now.”

Crowley growled. “Gonna-- gonna bend you over the couch and _take_ you. Take you so hard you’ll feel it in your-- your _tonsils_.” He cuddled closer.

“Nonsense, dearest, you hate that couch. You’d never.”

 _“Angel--”_ He choked on a laugh.

“However,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, “there are elements of your proposal that are not unattractive.” He shifted his hips against Crowley meaningfully.

“Oh, really?” Now Crowley was really grinning.

“Oh, yes. I’m receptive to hearing further arguments.”

“Mmm, I usually do find you pretty _receptive.”_ He ground down against him. Aziraphale squeaked, then groaned at the pun.

“Oh, _no_ , Crowley, that was _awful,_ I can’t _believe_ you--”

Then they were kissing again, giggling between kisses, hands grasping up and down each other’s bodies, battling for who could touch the most. They were still laughing when Crowley gripped under Aziraphale’s thigh (“Oh, darling, that _tickles!”)_ , lifted his leg around his waist, and pressed inside him.

“Ohhhh, you feel so good, dearest,” he moaned.

“See?” Crowley undulated his hips purposefully. “Very receptive.”

“Oh-- _oh_ you dreadful man, how could you _do_ this to me, and _while_ you’re oh-- _ooohhhh…”_

“Sorry, angel, I didn’t catch the end of that there.” Crowley’s shit-eating grin threatened to take over his entire face.

“You are without a doubt the _worst_ person I have _ever_ met,” he said breathlessly.

“Yeah, you’re making that very clear.”

“Yes, well, you’d better continue _distracting_ me from your _horrible_ jokes before I come to my-- _ah--_ senses.”

“Think I can manage that.”

When they were finished, they lay quietly for a while, just looking at each other. Aziraphale reached out and traced his fingers across the sharp planes of Crowley’s cheeks, circling his golden eyes, crossing his forehead. He didn’t say anything.

When his hand stroked across his jaw, Crowley caught it and pressed his fingers to his lips. After a long moment, Crowley released him.

“Getting a bit hard on the floor here, angel. We should go to bed,” he said quietly.

Aziraphale nodded. Crowley stood and stretched, and Aziraphale let his gaze wander luxuriously over the long lines of his glorious body, marvelling anew at this strange, mad piece of unlikely good fortune that had come to him in the middle of a nightmare.

A ghost of a smirk crossed Crowley’s face. “C’mon, angel. You can stare at me in bed just as well.” He reached a hand down.

Aziraphale took it and let Crowley pull him to his feet. “I’m really not sure I can, dearest. That was a particularly pleasant view.”

Crowley laughed as they trailed into the bedroom, arms around each others’ waists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning section of this chapter has been planned for a very long time, but the second part was an on-the-spot addition-- it seemed important that Crowley get a chance to show some weakness and receive some comfort of his own.  
> I hope you liked it! We are rapidly approaching the climax-- I'm guessing 2 or 3 more chapters till then (although I have many plans for post-climax fluff and possibly a second arc with these two-- we shall see).  
> I love comments more than anything! Let me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

“I’m gonna be back late tomorrow, angel, I’m sorry.”

“It’s quite all right, dear. Thank you for the warning. What’s going on?”

Crowley flopped back onto the bed. “Serving at an evening council meeting. Hopefully all the concentrated arrogance and low-grade evil don’t make me gag.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows in surprise. “A council meeting? They’re quite confidential, aren’t they? How did _you_ end up chosen for that?”

Crowley laughed. “Late night, no booze, and no tips. I’m still the least popular member of the serving staff.”

Aziraphale grinned wryly. “And I’m _sure_ you’ve done nothing at all to deserve it. Did I see you up on the _battlements_ today? Assiduously doing your job I’m sure.”

“Angel! I’m wounded. The guards up there need… drinks, right? Messages! That’s what they need.”

“What _were_ you doing, anyway?”

He smirked. “Gambling.”

_“Really?”_

“Oh, yeah. Guard duty’s the most mind-suckingly boring job in the world. They’re always up for any entertainment they can get. And the battlements are pretty far from, you know, anyone with work for me to do.”

“Crowley, _please_ do not tell me you’re about to get yourself skewered for conning some poor guardsman out of his pay.”

“Nahhh.” He rolled onto his stomach and grinned up at Aziraphale. “The trick is, you always let _them_ win the last game. They walk away happy and forget they only got _some_ of their money back. Helps if you pick the ones who don’t count too well.” He grinned unrepentantly.

Aziraphale sighed performatively. “I should _definitely_ prepare myself for your imminent skewering, it seems.”

“Hasn’t happened yet!”

“Have you considered that you may be pressing your luck with continued attempts, my dear?”

He smiled, tugging Aziraphale closer. “Like I said.” He ran his hands up Aziraphale’s sides. “Hasn’t failed me yet.”

The next evening Aziraphale lay in bed alone, staring blankly up into the darkness, trying to think calming thoughts. In the past he wouldn’t even have tried to sleep on a night like this, but the last thing he wanted was for Crowley to return to find him sitting in the living room, wide awake, fully dressed, and practically broadcasting _please don’t leave me I am incapable of sleeping without you or in any way managing my own emotions._ No. Crowley didn’t need to know the depth of his dependence; he ought to be able to spend a night elsewhere without being saddled with guilt over it. So Aziraphale took deep breaths past the weight sitting on his chest and did _not_ hyperventilate. He turned onto his side in an attempt to alleviate the pressure and a surge of nausea immediately rolled through him. He turned back over. _Not that then._

He sought some kind of distraction that wouldn’t require him to light a lamp to read. He winced away from memories of home. Any thought of the future, even just the next day, made his gut roil anew. _Crowley_. Also potentially a painful subject for too much contemplation. He fixed his mind purely on the physical, thinking back to the previous night. He tried to remember _exactly_ what Crowley’s fingers had felt like running up his leg, the sensation of Crowley’s tongue parting his lips. Yes. That was better.

When Crowley slid into bed in the early hours of the morning, Aziraphale wasn’t asleep, but he was at least reasonably calm and not rigid with fear.

Crowley cuddled up close to him, slinging a leg over his hips, and Aziraphale felt something inside him instantly unclench. “Awake, angel?” he mumbled sleepily.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s shoulders and sighed in relief. “Mmm,” he said noncommittally. “Did everything go all right?”

“Mmhmm.” He nuzzled at his neck. “Boring. Missed you. Sorry I was gone.”

“The apology is _quite_ unnecessary, my dear. I do very well by myself.”

There was a pause while Crowley processed this. “Liar,” he responded.

“Certainly not! I--”

“Mmph. Shush. Make it up to you.” Crowley slid his hand down Aziraphale’s leg and under his nightshirt, tracing delicately up the inside of his thigh. “Yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded mutely. Crowley proceeded to give him the sleepiest handjob of his life, all while mouthing at his neck and lazily rutting his own erection against Aziraphale’s hip. His orgasm felt more like a release this time, an opening and relaxing that left him warm and melting into the bed, with sleep finally gathering at the edges of his mind.

He felt Crowley shudder against him and then go limp. “Good, m’angel?” he mumbled.

“Yes,” he whispered back, sinking into sleep at last.

“Long day, angel?”

Crowley felt the brush of air across his neck as Aziraphale sighed. “Mmm. No different from usual. How was _your_ day, my dear?”

Crowley cast about for something that might entertain him. “Well,” he sighed gustily, “It’s a real struggle for me, angel, you know how much I want to be a good servant and it just _kills_ me when I make a mistake, ‘m feeling really _discouraged…_ ”

He felt Aziraphale’s lips quirk. _“What_ have you done now?”

“Might have accidentally tripped your old friend the duke when he was walking toward that one marquis, the bald one, and, well, he _really_ shouldn’t have filled his glass so full of red wine…” He couldn’t hold back a snicker.

 _“Crowley!”_ Aziraphale shook with laughter. “You awful boy, you did it on purpose! Do you _know_ what you’ve done?” He straightened to look Crowley in the face, eyes alight with amusement. “Their families have never liked one another, but there were rumors that they were planning on burying the hatchet, but now they’re both _furious_ , and they’re refusing to attend any council meetings with each other! My dear, you’ve caused a political incident with your antics!”

Crowley put on his most exaggerated pout. “ ‘S terrible, angel, I’m _such_ a klutz, I’ll _never_ move up in the world…” He flung a hand over his brow dramatically.

Aziraphale laughed aloud. “Never make it on the stage, either, darling.” He stroked Crowley’s cheek fondly.

Crowley let a wicked grin spread over his face. “You should have _seen_ them, angel, they were both _dripping_ and allll that dignity in pieces. It was _beautiful._ ”

“Well, you’ve managed to create difficulties for two of the most unpleasant power players at court, so I say good for you, dearest.”

Crowley cuddled Aziraphale closer and allowed himself a private grin of satisfaction. Anything that made Aziraphale laugh these days was a very, very sweet victory.

Aziraphale was getting quieter. Much of the time now he didn’t want to talk when he got home in the evening, just fall into Crowley’s arms and stay there. He still nearly always wanted to have sex, no matter how tired he seemed; Crowley wondered if he had some kind of internal countdown of how many more times they might get to do this. Sex had gotten harder, though. There were more and more small injuries to be negotiated around: a sprained wrist, a bruised stomach, a swollen knee. Crowley was careful. Very careful.

Loud footsteps coming down the hallway made Crowley start up from his seat. The noise, the rhythm, it sounded like… _Guards. And they’re coming here, but Aziraphale isn’t back yet, what could they--_ Crowley hovered by the door, listening, hoping to hear them pass by--

_BANG. BANG. BANG._

Crowley opened the door cautiously, poised to run. Instead the guards thrust someone at him, turned, and left without a word.

Aziraphale. Aziraphale, limp in his arms, head lolling. Crowley could feel something wet and sticky everywhere they were touching. Blood. So much blood.

Crowley looked down at the unmoving body in his arms, and for one moment of pure, icy horror he thought Aziraphale was dead.

Then there was motion. The flicker of an eyelash. A sound so quiet he almost missed it. “Crowley…”

 _“Angel,”_ Crowley gasped for breath. “Angel, angel, I’ve got you, you’re okay, just stay with me, all right? Stay with me, just breathe, just let me get you into bed and then I’ll send someone for the healer, I’ll be so fast, just hang on for me sweetheart--”

Aziraphale coughed weakly, then rasped, “Won’t come--orders.” Dull blue eyes briefly focused on Crowley’s. “Please stay.”

Crowley’s lips trembled. “Yeah, I’m gonna stay. I’m here. I’m here.” His heart pounded as he struggled to think. “I-- I need to pick you up. To get you to bed. I’m sorry, angel, it’ll hurt--”

“‘S okay,” he breathed, but when Crowley lifted him he let out an agonized cry, shuddered and then went limp. Crowley almost ran into the bedroom so he could lay him down and check his pulse. Alive. But weak, and fading in and out of consciousness.

He tore out of the room and into the hallway, searching desperately for _someone_ \-- there. A page hovered near the door, looking tearful and frightened. The little girl Aziraphale had helped. “You!” Crowley barked. She jumped. “Go get Anathema. He needs help. _Run!”_ She nodded determinedly, smearing a sleeve across her wet face, and raced off. 

Crowley heard a weak sound and was back at Aziraphale’s side in an instant. “Shhh. Shhh. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

When Anathema arrived at a run she found Crowley on his knees by the bed, having bound up Aziraphale’s injuries as best as he could. “Oh, _god,”_ she choked out, hand pressing against her mouth. She went to the other side of the bed. “You stubborn ass, I _knew_ this was going to happen, I _warned_ you, you idiot,” she said tearfully, gently stroking his hand.

Crowley stood. “Stay with him,” he ordered, and turned for the door.

“And where the fuck are _you_ going?”

“To get the healer,” he said through gritted teeth.

Anathema shook her head, face crumpling. “No one’s going to come, Crowley, they won’t risk defying the emperor himself. We’re just going to have to do the best we can and hope that--” Her voice broke.

Crowley turned slowly. Anathema didn’t know him well, but she had seen enough of him below stairs to form an impression of his personality. Lazy. Funny. Good-humored. A bit of a troublemaker, but harmless enough. Now he met her eyes, and the mask fell.

“Oh, he’ll come,” he said quietly.

He left the room.

Crowley returned very shortly with the most terrified-looking healer Anathema had ever seen. Crowley stood behind the man through his entire treatment, staring impassively while the healer flinched and stuttered and glanced over his shoulder again and again. He did a professional job, though, and when he was finished Aziraphale was sleeping peacefully. On his way out he muttered something inaudible to Crowley, who responded in smooth, quiet tones. The healer gulped and scampered away.

They sat quietly together, watching Aziraphale sleep. Finally Anathema shook herself. “I need to go, someone will have noticed I’ve been missing.”

Crowley nodded without looking away from Aziraphale’s face.

Anathema stood and started to leave, then hesitated. She looked at the two of them for a long moment. “You-- love him, don’t you.”

Crowley met her eyes. “Go back to work, Anathema,” he said quietly.

She nodded jerkily. “I’m sorry,” she said, blinking away tears, then turned and left.

Aziraphale woke slowly, feeling groggy and warm.

“How are you feeling, angel?” Crowley asked softly, running a gentle hand down his arm.

He smiled muzzily. “I’m quite well, my--” His eyes flew open and he jerked upright with a gasp, remembering. Frantically he felt at his stomach where he knew ribs had been broken, his arm that had been pierced down to the bone. Nothing. He turned to look at Crowley, eyes wide with horror. “Crowley,” he whispered, “what did you do?”

“‘S okay, angel, I just talked a healer around into seeing you, it’s fine, everything’s fine,” he said soothingly, rubbing comforting hands up and down Aziraphale’s shoulders.

Aziraphale was shaking his head frantically. “No, no, no, Crowley, you can’t, _no one_ can know, it’s not--” His breath was coming in panicked gasps, and his face had gone white. “You have to get out of here, you have to get out now, leave the palace, please, please, Crowley--”

“Shhh, angel, angel, it’s fine--”

 _“No!_ Crowley, you don’t understand,” He gripped at Crowley with trembling hands. “He doesn’t just want to kill me so I won’t inherit, he _hates_ me, he wants to _hurt_ me, if anyone tells him-- if he has any idea, if he even _suspects_ that I-- that we-- He’ll kill you, Crowley, he’ll kill you, I’ll come back here some night and find your body in our bed--” His voice broke and he clutched Crowley desperately. “Please run,” he pleaded in a helpless whisper. “Please don’t make me bear that too.”

“I _won’t.”_ Crowley held him tight and rocked him back and forth. “It won’t happen, angel, I swear, please, please just breathe, okay? Just breathe.”

Aziraphale obeyed and calmed slightly, pulling back and opening his mouth to speak. Crowley rested his fingers over his lips. “Listen to me, angel. Please listen. I promise you, that isn’t going to happen.” Aziraphale shook his head, but Crowley went on. “Just listen. That healer, I scared the shit out of him, okay? He poisoned his brother to get all his parents’ money, and he’ll lose everything if anyone finds out. He’s terrified, way too scared to talk.” 

Aziraphale bit his lip uncertainly. “Crowley, that may be, but if the emperor really puts pressure on him--”

“I know. I don’t think it’ll happen, but I know, and angel, I _swear_ I can protect myself.” He held Aziraphale’s eyes, willing his own to look convincing. “Your emperor is neither clever nor subtle. If he decides to go after me, I’ll know, I’ll know before they come for me and I _swear_ to you I will run. If I have get out of here to keep myself safe, I can do it, and I will, I promise.” Aziraphale’s fingers curled in his shirt, worrying the fabric nervously. “Aziraphale,” he said seriously, “you told me. That very first day, you told me that you couldn’t protect me, and I came back because _I don’t need you to.”_ He cupped his lover’s face. “All you ever do is worry about other people. But you don’t need to do that for me. I can take care of myself. I just need you to trust me.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly, searching Crowley’s eyes. “I do,” he whispered.

“Good.” Crowley pulled him close and rubbed up and down his back, taking a moment to just enjoy the feeling of Aziraphale, warm and alive and breathing in his arms. Aziraphale’s embrace was too tight at first, but it slowly eased under his reassuring touch.

“So,” Crowley said after a while. “Did you finally tell that bastard to fuck off right to his face?”

Aziraphale chuckled weakly. “No, dear, only you would have the courage for that.”

Crowley leaned back a bit. “What did happen?” he said cautiously.

“Nothing,” he answered with a twisted smile.

Crowley shook his head, confused. “What do you mean, angel? Something must’ve… triggered all this.”

“There wasn’t anything, dear. No different from any other day.”

“Then why…”

He looked down at where his fingers were running up the seam of Crowley’s shirt. “A final test, I believe. Of the other noble’s reactions. If nobody protests at this…” He closed his eyes and exhaled. “Then no one will protest my execution.”

Wordlessly Crowley embraced him. Aziraphale clung to him tightly, and they stayed like that for a long time, sinking down into the bed in each others’ arms. 

Finally Aziraphale whispered, “It means it’ll be soon,” He laughed weakly, brushing off tears. “It’s ridiculous. I’ve known this was coming for so long, but I’m still so scared.” His voice broke in a sob. “I almost wish it were over.”

Crowley’s arms tightened. “Just… don’t give up completely, okay, angel? Something could happen…”

Aziraphale jerked back immediately. “Crowley, if you are planning something, I swear--”

Crowley raised his hands placatingly. “Calm down, angel, I’m not going to carry you off or get myself killed in some futile rescue attempt. I swear.” Aziraphale eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then nodded. “Just…” He sighed. “Just don’t give up. Please?”

Aziraphale’s face softened and he held Crowley close. “I won’t end things myself just to get it over with, I promise. No matter what happens.” He closed his eyes. “I’ll stay with you as long as I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! We are swiftly approaching the climax!  
> On that note, it's possible that the next chapter will be a bit late-- a lot is going to happen and I really want to get it just right.  
> Thank you to everyone who's been commenting! It means the world to me!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news: obviously, I was able to finish this chapter on time!  
> Bad news: this section has turned out to be quite a bit longer than I expected, so I split it up, leaving this chapter with a bit of a cliffhanger-y ending. Fair warning!

Crowley was slow to leave the next morning. They stayed in bed for a long time, just kissing and exchanging light nonsense. When he finally got up, Aziraphale’s eyes tracked him as he moved around the room. Crowley stayed close. He made no move to leave once he was dressed, sitting and wrapping an arm around Aziraphale’s waist to kiss him warmly again. Aziraphale hung on tight.

At last he pushed Crowley away with a forced laugh. “Go, you’re terribly late, my dear, you have to go.”

They walked into the sitting room together and Crowley pulled him in for a last, lingering kiss at the door. Aziraphale closed his eyes and sank into it, the softness and fire of Crowley’s lips caressing his, the sharp angles and fierce strength of the body pressed against him. Finally they separated. Crowley looked down at him, eyes dark and tender. “See you tonight, angel,” he murmured.

Aziraphale nodded quickly, lips twitching into an unnatural smile. “Take care, dearest.”

Crowley smiled, and then he was gone.

“Goodbye,” Aziraphale whispered to the closed door.

He took a step forward, fighting the urge to run after him, to call him back, even just look at him one more time. He sagged back against the wall, chest heaving, one hand pressed to his lips as if he could hold the sensation of Crowley’s kiss there. His eyes flickered around the room, seeing Crowley everywhere: perched on the table, sprawled across the chair, holding a hand out to him and laughing. He blinked, and the tears ran unnoticed down his cheeks. 

“Why couldn’t we have had more _time?”_ His voice cracked with bitterness and grief. He stood alone in the room, and for a moment, Aziraphale gave in and wept.

Then he pulled in a steadying breath. “Enough. Enough.” He brushed away his tears. “You are _lucky,”_ he told himself firmly. “Lucky to have had any time with him at all. Lucky to have had him with you when you needed him most.” 

He straightened up and went into the bedroom to dress, neatly and precisely. When the door burst open with a crash of splintering wood, he was waiting.

Crowley was having a shitty day. He stalked reluctantly out of the palace and straight into the cheerful chaos of the spring carnival, which had crowded every main street around the palace with tents and stalls and a _ridiculous_ number of people. He growled under his breath, which sometimes got people out of his way, but nope, not today. Two of the messages he had to deliver, the actual important ones, required him to wade straight into the fair, dodging costumed revelers and drunken tourists till he found two small tents-- on opposite sides of the carnival, of course. He wanted to get back to the palace and find Aziraphale, hover nearby to keep an eye on him, or even just catch his eye and maybe make him smile. He’d seen how tense he was all morning, the desperation of his kisses, the fear in his eyes. This was not the day for Crowley to be out of the palace, but he didn’t see that he had any choice.

The last errand was picking up a package left in storage at an inn across town, and he was seriously tempted to skip it, but he _knew_ it would come back to bite him if he did. He escaped the celebration and sprinted through the city streets where people who lacked the time or money for fairing were going about their ordinary days. He nodded quickly to the innkeeper, who passed him a wrapped parcel. Crowley turned and dashed back the way he’d come-- but a _parade_ had started, of course it had, and he was struggling through dense crowds of people, laughing as they looked up at the brilliant costumes, acrobats standing balanced on horseback, someone juggling swords that glinted in the sunlight, a fire-eater. Crowley cursed. This was going to take _hours._

Back in the palace, yet another council meeting had devolved into a shouting match. Tensions had been simmering for weeks as tiny slights blew out of proportion and a weak emperor failed to command order. One nobleman’s temper finally broke, and he drew a weapon on another.

Someone screamed. Another called the guards who wrestled the two men apart. The palace buzzed with the news, and in the commotion, no one noticed a series of costumed figures making their way from the fair closer to the palace wall, where a concealed grate covered the entrance to a secret passageway inside.

Down in the dungeon, wrists chained above his head, Aziraphale looked up. The prison guards had left in a hurry earlier and had not returned. He could hear running feet above him and the distant echoes of shouting. Through the distant calm cushioning his mind, he wondered what was going on.

Crowley finally rammed his way through the last of the crowd and dashed toward the servants’ entrance when a thundering blast sent him to his knees. He looked up and saw a section of the outer wall had been blown away and flames were spurting up from the gap.

_“Fuck!”_ he spat. Soldiers who had been concealed in the carnival crowds were pouring into the palace now, and he could hear screams and the sound of swords clashing. There was an army moving between him and Aziraphale.

He ran inside. At first he barrelled up servants’ corridors, passing only other servants fleeing in the opposite direction, but his path quickly brought him closer to the fighting. The shouting was louder now, and he could hear cries of fear and smashing furniture. He tried to think where Aziraphale might be, where he would have gone to hide. _He hasn’t lived in the palace long. He hasn’t been exploring. He won’t know the back hallways or servants' stairs that he could use to escape._ He ducked through a side entrance into the main audience chamber, where the court gathered in the morning, and into chaos.

The palace guards were locked in battle with the invading soldiers, but they were swiftly losing; no one had been prepared for the center of their mighty empire to suddenly become a war zone. Half the room’s famous mirrors had been smashed, and a golden, thousand-candle chandelier was in pieces on the ground. Nobles in glittering finery huddled in the corner away from the fighting, a few brandishing dress swords ineffectually. Crowley scanned them briefly and was satisfied that Aziraphale was not among them. He left.

_Where would he have gone… would he have tried to find me? Maybe he went back to the room, maybe he thought I’d look for him there._ He passed through hallways hung with massive portraits and salons papered in silk and satin, torn and bloodstained now. There was fighting in every room he saw, and he crept along the edges carefully, hoping to stay unnoticed. Two soldiers, swords locked together, slammed into him from behind and knocked him from his feet. Crowley rolled away madly and came up right under an invader’s blade. He raised his hands and backed away, but the woman took one look at his palace uniform and charged him. _Fuck, fuck, fuck--_ Crowley ducked and weaved, backing toward the door, eyes fixed on any movement of her body that would tell him where that sword was going next. Her eyes narrowed in frustration as somehow, her sword kept meeting air. At last he felt the door at his back. He dropped, executed a swift kick to her knee that knocked her off balance, and threw himself out the door.

Crowley panted. _Well, that can’t happen again._ This wasn’t the first time he’d had to negotiate a battlefield without getting killed, but he would have felt a lot happier with literally any weapon in his hands. It was time to fix that, and make himself less of a target, before he got himself gutted and was no use to Aziraphale at all. He ducked into an abandoned room and emerged better outfitted for the situation.

Now people were mostly ignoring him, and even better, the path was getting clearer as the richly decorated rooms of the newer wing gave way to the plainer, wood-panelled halls of the older section of the palace. Where Aziraphale had been housed, of course. Fewer people here, and he picked up speed, dashing down that familiar corridor, already starting to call out, “Aziraphale! I’m--”

He jerked to a halt outside their rooms, and found destruction.

The door was in pieces on the ground. Books and trinkets had been pulled from the walls and shelves smashed. That awful sofa was kindling. Their armchair, where they had spent so many evenings curled up together, was sturdier, but it had been tipped onto its side and the fabric shredded. Crowley, stepping forward in a haze of shock, suppressed the urge to set it upright. The only thought that penetrated the fog was a vague, offended sense that this was all so _unnecessary._ All this destruction to arrest one man who hadn’t even been planning to fight back.

The image of Aziraphale from this morning drifted to the front of his mind’s eye. _He expected it._ Their passionate final kiss. Aziraphale urging him to leave. _He didn’t want me to be here for this._

Crowley slowly entered the bedroom. This room was a shambles, too. Someone had gone to the effort of destroying that massive bed. One of Aziraphale’s books, one of the few things here that actually belonged to him, had been ripped in half and pages fluttered across the floor. Crowley reached down and touched it with a pang.

That book snapped him out of it. _What am I_ **_doing?_ ** Aziraphale clearly wasn’t here, hadn’t been here for hours. He spun around to leave, then halted and gave the room a quick, but thorough search, just in case it had been invading soldiers and not palace guards who had done this. But Aziraphale wasn’t there, injured or hiding. _No blood anywhere. Maybe they didn’t hurt him, when they took him. Maybe the emperor just wanted to make this look dramatic. Sounds like him._

He ran from the room. Two hallways down was the entrance to a secret passageway he’d found, one of the many private exits from the palace that he’d considered using in a pinch, but there was a connected path that would take him to the lower levels, near the dungeons. To Aziraphale.

_Please, please let him be there…_

Crowley shifted the floor-to-ceiling painting to one side and ducked into the passage. He stepped down into a tight, winding spiral staircase, rushing as fast as he could, hand running across the rough stone to help him keep his balance as he descended deeper and deeper into the palace. He couldn’t see much, but that was fine, he had a good memory and the opening he wanted would come just after the tunnel leveled out--

He swung around a turn, tripped, and went sprawling, barely catching himself before his momentum took him into a bone-breaking tumble down the rest of the stairs. He pulled himself up and looked back to see what had tripped him.

A body lay on the stairs. The neck was bent at an unnatural angle; someone else, not long before, had tripped on these same stairs, and had not been as lucky or as agile as Crowley. Someone in a hurry, trying to escape, and not looking carefully at where he was going. It should have been hard to identify the body, but a shaft of light from some air vent far above shone directly onto its face.

Crowley looked at the staring purple eyes of the emperor, and all he could feel was disgust. Absurd, that this pathetic little man had caused his angel so much suffering. Right that he should meet an ignominious end in a dark corner, where his body might take days or weeks to be found.

Some little part of Crowley wanted to kick the body, or spit on it, but he had more important things to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked it! Action scenes are REALLY hard to write. And the rest of this bit is coming as soon as I can get it on paper! I know exactly what's going to happen and I am so excited to share it with you.  
> Thank you to everyone who's been commenting and PLEASE let me know what you think about this turn of events :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay it's another cliffhanger, sorry! But up ahead of schedule!
> 
> CW: Sexual harassment

“C’mon, sweetheart. You look like you need a hand. We can be friends, can’t we?”

The Alandan soldier leered at Aziraphale, leaning over him where he was chained on his knees. Aziraphale recoiled as far as he could get and tried not to inhale too deeply. The man smelled _terrible._

“I’m quite all right, thank you,” he said primly, grimacing.

“Aww, don’t be like that. I’ll be nice to you if you’re nice to me.” The man reached down and gripped his chin, running a thumb across his lips suggestively.

Aziraphale jerked his head away. “I am quite comfortable where I am, thank you. I do not require your assistance.”

The man’s face hardened, and his hand dropped to press against Aziraphale’s throat. “What do you think is going to happen to you, then? All tied up down here. Your castle has _fallen,_ sweetie. You’re at the mercy of the Alandan army. You aren’t going to get a better offer than this. Trust me, things will go easier for you if you just--”

“Excuse me.”

Aziraphale’s head shot up at that voice. _Crowley._ When his eyes found him, Aziraphale’s jaw dropped.

He’d never given much thought to Crowley’s clothes. Servants’ uniforms were meant to make them fade into the background, and the most Aziraphale would have said was that nothing could make Crowley less striking. He’d never imagined how he might look in clothing that actually suited him.

Crowley was leaning against the wall of the prison with an air of casual unconcern. His legs were sheathed in skin-tight black leather that showed every inch of hard muscle all the way up to his-- well. Black leather brigandine hugged his strong chest and arms, and a pair of long silver knives glinted at his waist. Black, with red accents-- Alandan colors. All that dark clothing made his golden eyes and fiery hair glow in contrast. Aziraphale had never seen him look so dangerous-- or so beautiful.

The soldier barely glanced over his shoulder, looking annoyed. “Fuck off, Crowley, I saw him first.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Hate to contradict you, Hastur, but that is _definitely_ not true.”

Just about that moment Aziraphale finally found his voice enough to breathe, _“Crowley.”_

Hastur caught sight of Aziraphale’s rapt expression and turned, looking pissed. “Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” He stepped toward Crowley, gesturing angrily. “The queen sent you here to do your _job, spymaster,_ and instead you’re busy running around seducing naïve little innocents?”

Crowley smirked. “I’m _very_ good at time management.” He played with the hilt of his knife idly. “Anyway it _worked_ , so I don’t see why you’d care.”

Hastur rolled his eyes with an exasperated noise and turned to Aziraphale. “So is he telling the truth? Are you _his?”_ he asked with a disgusted curl of his lip.

Aziraphale hadn’t taken his eyes off Crowley for a moment. _“Yes,”_ he answered fervently.

 _“Ugh.”_ He rolled his eyes. “Fine!” He stalked off up the stairs, deliberately bumping Crowley’s shoulder and muttering something about “smug son of a bitch.” Crowley smiled sweetly, not even looking up from where his long fingers still toyed with his knife. He remained unmoving until they heard the door clang shut.

Crowley snatched at the keys where they hung on the wall and threw himself to his knees in front of Aziraphale. “Angel, are you all right? Are you hurt?” he said urgently, fumbling the keys with shaking fingers. He opened the shackles on his third try.

 _“Yes,”_ Aziraphale gasped, and flung his freed arms around Crowley’s neck to drag him into a kiss.

Their mouths opened, tongues sliding together, bodies pressing tightly against each other. Crowley gripped the sides of Aziraphale’s shirt like he expected him to be torn away.

Finally they broke apart for air. “I-- I didn’t think I’d get to see you again.” Aziraphale laughed breathlessly, joyful and half-disbelieving. His arms stayed locked around Crowley’s neck, staring into those golden eyes like he couldn’t look enough.

“I’m here,” Crowley said fiercely. “But Aziraphale, you’re sure you’re not hurt? I saw what they did to the room…” His hands ran carefully over Aziraphale’s body, checking for injuries.

Aziraphale shook his head. “I’m fine. Just some bumps and bruises-- the guards weren’t exactly wearing kid gloves when they brought me down here, of course. But they weren’t _trying_ to hurt me.” He tilted his head and leaned in. “I’m fine,” he repeated against Crowley’s lips.

Crowley’s arms wrapped around his waist then, embracing him. They stayed like that for a long time, lips moving against each other, clinging to each other on their knees in that dark dungeon. At last Aziraphale rested his forehead against Crowley’s, breathing out in a long exhale. 

“Crowley,” His lips twitched. “Did that man call you _spymaster?”_

“Uh.” said Crowley.

Aziraphale giggled, a little hysterically. “No wonder you weren’t worried that _I_ couldn’t protect you. Probably-- probably pretty used to taking care of that yourself, I imagine.” He kept giggling.

Crowley bit his lip. “I-- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” He searched Aziraphale’s face nervously.

“Best you didn’t. I’m not much of an actor, dear.” He was still snickering.

Crowley looked increasingly worried, and his arms around Aziraphale’s waist grew tighter. “Aziraphale, I-- I didn’t-- When I met you, it wasn’t-- I never-- I need you to know that I--”

Aziraphale rested his fingers against Crowley’s lips to halt his desperate stammering. “Darling. If you’d gone to bed with me so you could learn state secrets, I imagine you would have picked someone who actually _knew_ some.” His face went serious, and his hand moved to cup Crowley’s cheek. “Whatever you may have kept from me, I know that _this,”_ he gestured between them, “is real.”

The tension ran out of Crowley like water. “It is,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss Aziraphale again.

It was quite a while before Aziraphale finally murmured, “I suppose we can’t stay down here forever.”

“Mmm,” Crowley responded noncommittally, nuzzling at Aziraphale’s neck.

“I take it from what that horrible man said that your army has taken the palace?” He did not sound overly concerned.

Crowley shrugged. “Looked like it was going that way, but I can’t say for sure. I was a bit busy trying to find you.”

Aziraphale blushed slightly. “Didn’t you have more important things to do, spymaster?”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “No.” He pulled Aziraphale in for another deep kiss. “I didn’t. And _I_ think you know that. _I_ think you’re _flirting_ with me, angel.”

Aziraphale’s lips curved. “Whatever would give you that impression?” He brushed a hand down Crowley’s front and over the place where the leather had grown a bit tighter as they’d kissed. 

Crowley groaned, eyes squeezing shut. Then he shot to his feet. “Nope, nope, I am _not_ fucking you on the floor of this dungeon, we are getting _out_ of here, angel.” He reached a hand down to help Aziraphale up.

He took it with a bright laugh. “If you insist, darling.”

They walked out together, arms wrapped around each other’s waists. Crowley checked cautiously for signs of fighting, but it seemed like everything was over. “You’d better stay close to me for the next few days, angel,” he said, arm tightening slightly around Aziraphale. “I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the aftermath of a battle, but it tends to be ugly. Some soldiers will think anyone from the opposite side is fair game. Things will calm down soon and you can go where you want, but until then…”

Aziraphale smiled up at him through lowered lashes. “Am I your prisoner now, Crowley?” he murmured suggestively.

Crowley smirked and kissed his temple. “If you like,” he answered, breath moving against Aziraphale’s curls.

Aziraphale laughed blithely, and Crowley thought that he had never seen him so happy as now, fresh out of a dungeon, clothing torn and disheveled, wrists still red from the manacles that had bound him.

Aziraphale looked up at him and beamed, and Crowley was momentarily struck dumb. He’d always been drawn to Aziraphale’s warmth and kindness, his courage and selflessness, but he was only now realizing that the man he’d known had always been shadowed by sorrow and fear, even in their happiest moments. But now that he was free? That smile was like staring straight into the sun, and Crowley felt like he’d been hit in the head with a board.

Aziraphale felt like he was floating. The world he’d thought he was living in had turned sideways and transformed into a happy dream, soft and strange around the edges. Only Crowley’s arm around him grounded him, while at the same time making him feel like his chest was full of bubbles. After he’d faced the unbearable fact that he would never see him again, Crowley had come to him. They were together, and Aziraphale was finding it hard to care what might happen next.

“So what does the queen of Alanda want with the Empire?” he asked idly as they strolled through the halls. “I never had the impression that she was much of an expansionist, and she’ll have a deal of trouble keeping it.”

“The queen has this pet seer she puts a lot of faith in,” Crowley answered casually, feeling relaxed. It felt so good to be able to tell Aziraphale everything. “She saw some incredibly powerful mage coming here, some special kind that only gets born about once in a thousand years. ‘S called the Conduit.” He glanced over at Aziraphale, who nodded.

“I’ve heard legends, but… Crowley, as you’ve pointed out, this place is like a sieve. If there were a mage like that here, everyone would know about it. It’s not possible.”

“I guess the powers can take a long time to manifest? The seer said the person might not know themselves.” Crowley shrugged. “Not my area, really. The queen just didn’t want to find out what would happen if your emperor got hold of someone who could level cities.” Aziraphale shuddered. “They said to keep an eye out for anything that looked weird, but really I was just here to get information. Soften things up if I could, but most of the job was just calling in the army when it was time.”

Aziraphale nodded, looking thoughtful. “So that’s why you were always running around places you shouldn’t,” he said absently.

Crowley grinned. “To be fair, I’d do that anyway.”

“You would, wouldn’t you.” Aziraphale chuckled, a bit distracted. “I imagine your real personality makes for excellent cover.”

“Yep.”

They were quiet for a moment, Aziraphale’s brow furrowed in thought. Then he said slowly, staring into the middle distance, “Crowley, traditionally on the third week of the carnival the emperor goes out into the city to see it. He’s far more vulnerable then, and so is the palace with so many guards out with him.” He turned his head to look up at Crowley. “But you knew that.”

Crowley made a vague sound.

“You said you called for the attack. If you had waited one more week, you could have been much more confident in your success.”

“Nngh.”

Aziraphale stopped walking. Crowley turned to face him. “You did it for me,” he whispered, staring up at Crowley. “A week longer would have been too late for me. You--” He gave a little disbelieving laugh. “I-- I was worried you might try to-- fight the guards, or sneak me out through a tunnel, and you--” His voice cracked, full of shock and awe. “You brought an _army_ here to save me.”

Crowley’s lips curled in a half-smile. “You didn’t _really_ think I would let that bastard kill you,” he said softly. Almost chiding. As if Aziraphale should have known.

Aziraphale laughed, a little hysterically. “You’re mad,” he said with a hint of tears in his voice. “If they had failed you would have been killed. If anyone _finds out_ you’ll be in such trouble. You’re _spymaster to the queen of Alanda_ , and you risked _everything_ for--”

Crowley caught his hands and held them in his own. “For you,” he said quietly. “For you.”

Aziraphale shook his head, blinking away tears. “You promised me you wouldn’t try to save me,” he accused. He couldn’t stop smiling.

Crowley lifted his chin. “I did _not!_ I _promised_ not to steal you out of here without permission, or get myself killed in a futile rescue attempt. As you see,” he gestured grandly around them. “No escape from the palace.” He gestured to himself. “Not killed.” He pointed to Aziraphale. “Not futile.” He gave an impressive bow. _“Voila.”_

Aziraphale laughed. “Such deception. I won’t be fooled.” He looked up at Crowley, eyes shining. “Crowley, I--”

“My lord!”

Aziraphale and Crowley looked up at the interruption. A young man in Alandan livery approached down the hallway. He gave a small bow, then said, “My lord Crowley, the queen has requested your presence in the main audience chamber.” He glanced curiously at Aziraphale.

Crowley nodded acknowledgement and the two of them followed the messenger. _“My lord?”_ Aziraphale murmured pointedly in his ear.

Crowley snickered. “Some of the nobles were complaining about having to sit in confidential meetings with a _commoner_. So the queen gave me a title. Just what they wanted, of course. They were all _so happy_ for me.”

Aziraphale laughed. “She sounds like an unusual ruler.”

“She’s not bad, as they go.”

They entered the audience chamber. Wreckage from the battle had been cleared away, and now the room was filled with soldiers of rank, still in uniform, as well as various members of the nobility who had come along for the fight, dressed in more elaborate armor. But dominating the room without question was a tiny, dark-haired woman seated on the imperial throne as if she’d been born there. Her sharp eyes traveled across her subjects, missing nothing.

Just as they entered, a woman in dark gray standing next to the queen leaned forward to get her attention. Her voice rang like a bell through the buzz in the room.

“That’s him,” she said, pointing straight at Aziraphale. “He’s the Conduit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaahh I hope you liked it! I've been planning this chapter and the next one for months.  
> The next chapter is written, I just need a bit of time to revise it and I will post that too!  
> Let me know what you thought!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas if you're celebrating! I thought it would be nice to get this out in time for Christmas, especially since it's a strange and lonely one for a lot of people this year. Have some Ineffable Husbands love.

Aziraphale was frozen. There was a rushing noise in his ears, and he could no longer feel Crowley’s arm around him. He could only faintly sense the motion that told him he was shaking his head, over and over. A voice that didn’t seem to be his was saying, “No,” very quietly. None of this was happening. It had been over. He had been safe.

Through his shock, he did not hear the queen say, “Bring him to me,” did not see the guards begin to come toward him. He did notice, however, when Crowley violently shoved him behind his back, gripping his hand like a vise.

 _“No,”_ Crowley snarled, shifting into a defensive crouch in front of Aziraphale. “He is _mine!_ He accepted me! You have no right to separate us!” His eyes were wild and furious as he faced the guards who almost encircled them.

One of them made a move as if to grab them. Crowley’s hand shot to the hilt of his knife, and a shocked gasp ran through the room.

Aziraphale snapped out of his fog. _“No!”_ he cried, gripping Crowley’s arm. In the Empire, the punishment for drawing a weapon in the presence of the emperor was immediate execution. He couldn’t imagine that the consequences for doing so near the queen were much less dire.

“I will not let you take him,” Crowley hissed, struggling to free his arm from Aziraphale’s grasp. The guards were starting to reach for their own weapons, preparing to subdue him, and Aziraphale’s breath was coming in shallow, panicked gasps--

 _“Enough,_ Crowley."The queen’s voice cut through the room like a knife, and everyone fell silent. Even Crowley released his weapon instinctively and met her gaze.

“He is _mine!”_ he cried. “You can’t--”

 _“Yes_ , Crowley, I heard you the first time,” she said, sounding almost bored. Crowley stopped, thrown off balance. “But if you would consider.” She leaned forward. “The Conduit is not Alandan. Is it _possible_ that he did not understand the significance of your offer when he accepted it?” she asked pointedly.

 _“Yes,”_ Crowley growled.

“And is it even possible, given that we have just defeated his country in battle, that he accepted you for protection, believing that you were the best of a very limited set of options?”

 _“Yes,”_ he ground out.

She raised her eyebrows, challenging. “And would you deny him the right to make a free and knowing choice?”

Crowley’s grip on Aziraphale’s hand tightened painfully for a second. Then he released him. 

“No.” 

He stepped aside. 

“Crowley--” The sound wrenched itself from Aziraphale’s throat before he bit down on more words. One crystal clear thought shot through his terror. _If you ask him to defend you he will do it, and he will die._

Aziraphale straightened. His chin went up, and all emotion vanished from his pale face. When one of the queen’s guards gestured for him to come forward, he went calmly. His steps did not falter. His hands did not tremble. He did not look back at Crowley, whose burning gaze he could feel pressing against his back.

He approached the throne and bowed precisely the depth correct for a nobleman addressing a foreign sovereign. “Your Majesty,” he said courteously.

She looked him over thoughtfully. “I apologize for any misunderstanding. I do not mean you any harm.” He bowed slightly in acknowledgement. “What is your name?”

“Aziraphale, Your Majesty.”

Her eyebrows went up. “The prince,” she said in surprise.

His lips quirked in an ironic smile. “Not anymore, I suspect,” he responded, glancing around him.

A faint laugh ran through the room, and the queen smiled. “Perhaps. More importantly, you are the Conduit, who I came here to find. Do you know what that means?”

“I-- I am somewhat familiar with the term, but Your Majesty, I fear there has been some-- misunderstanding,” he said carefully. “I have no magical abilities. I have never shown the least sign of-- anything unusual or extraordinary. I do not believe it can be possible.”

“Your powers are buried deep, but they are there.” The woman standing next to the queen spoke unexpectedly. Unsettling gray eyes seemed to pierce right through him. “You _are_ the Conduit, whether your abilities ever manifest or not.”

The queen folded her hands. “So you see I am left with a dilemma, Prince Aziraphale.” She held his eyes, seeking understanding. “I cannot allow such a powerful weapon, even a potential one, to fall into the hands of another ruler.”

“I see,” he said through lips that felt numb.

“I would have your allegiance, or at least some guarantee that you will _not_ give it to any other kingdom. Do you think we can come to some agreement on this matter?”

Aziraphale nodded cautiously.

“Good. Now, the simplest solution seems to be for you to enter a union with a member of my court, someone already loyal to me. It appears you have received one offer already.” A quiet murmur traveled through the room. “But as the Conduit, you can expect to be pursued by many others of high station.” She leaned forward. “Lord Crowley is… worthy enough, in his way. But there will undoubtedly be others who will seek your favor who can… offer more.” Aziraphale heard a faint rustling, of nobles around him attempting to look eligible, perhaps. Unable to suppress the impulse, he recoiled slightly.

The queen sat back on her throne. “And of course there is no reason for you to make any decision at all immediately,” she said lightly. “I’m sure it has been a very shocking day. A poor time for making important decisions.” She held his eyes. “Go with my people tonight, and you will be under my _personal_ protection.” Her gaze flickered across the crowd as if to impress her point upon them. “I give you my word that you will not be forced into any partnership that is distasteful to you, nor will you be harassed by unwanted attentions. You will have time to consider, to learn what options you have, to be courted properly before you come to a decision. Will you come?”

Aziraphale bowed slightly and did not allow himself to tremble. “Your Majesty is very kind. I-- don’t understand any of this, really.” He straightened, forcing himself to face her. “But Crowley told the truth.” His voice rang clear and firm throughout the chamber. He turned, and his eyes found Crowley where he stood at the back of the room, every inch of him rigid with tension. “And so did I.” He reached out his hand. “We belong to each other.”

A gasp went around the room, but Aziraphale didn’t hear it. All he saw was Crowley striding towards him, golden eyes blazing with fierce joy. The people between them melted away and Crowley was by his side, one arm wrapping possessively around his waist. Aziraphale rested his hands on his chest and looked up, breathless, expecting a kiss, but instead Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in his free one, cradling it as if it were delicate as a flower. Aziraphale felt rather than saw Crowley press his fingers to his lips. He was caught in the intensity of that gaze, and for a moment he forgot there was anyone else in the world.

When Crowley spoke, he only said, low and quiet, “Your Majesty, if I may have your permission.” His eyes never left Aziraphale’s.

The queen flopped back in her seat with an exasperated huff. _“Fine,_ you can go.” She flapped a hand at them impatiently. “Come see me in the morning, I want to _talk_ to you, Crowley,” she ordered, glaring.

Crowley inclined his head in assent, then turned and led Aziraphale out of the room, their eyes still fixed on each other.

The moment the doors closed behind them Aziraphale’s knees buckled. Crowley caught him easily. “I’ve got you, angel, it’s all right, it’s almost over,” he murmured lowly.

“Crowley,” he whispered, lips a breath from his ear. “Crowley, do we need to run?”

Crowley shook his head quickly. “It’s not like that, angel. She won’t arrest us for defying her. It’s all right.”

He led him quickly outside and into a large courtyard. Aziraphale had a blurry impression of movement, people, a soldiers’ camp, and then they were inside a large tent, and alone.

Crowley helped him sit. The tent, lined with black satin, seemed to be filled with large, plush cushions, all black and very soft. He sank down into one.

Crowley knelt in front of him, carefully chafing his hands between his own and watching his face with concern. “Are you all right, angel?”

“I--” He lifted a hand to his head and laughed a little wildly. “Crowley, what _happened?”_

“I guess you’re the Conduit.” He smiled faintly. “Still much too good for me.”

Aziraphale shook his head, dragging a hand down his face. “But Crowley, I’m _not_ , you know I’m not! It’s not-- I couldn’t be more ordinary! And surely if I had power like that it would’ve-- come out, somehow, to protect me this year! This is all some-- mad mistake.” He groaned.

Crowley looked thoughtful. “That seer woman mostly talks in stupid riddles, but I’ve never known her to be wrong about something she actually said plainly. I think you probably are, angel.” Aziraphale gave him a horrified look, and he rubbed his hands soothingly. “Don’t worry, they won’t be able to order you to do anything without getting my permission too, and I don’t mind pissing people off if there’s anything you’re not comfortable with. It’s not like they aren’t used to it.” He smirked.

“Your-- permission?” Aziraphale asked uncertainly.

“Yeah, there are a lot of rules in Alandan law about partners and respect for those bonds.” He looked down, smiling softly. “What you said, in there-- it’s probably the only thing that would have made her let you leave with me. It’s a wedding vow.” He wound their fingers together, thumb caressing Aziraphale’s palm. “We could still get married sometime, if you like, but after a-- public declaration like that, in Alanda anything else would be… purely ceremonial.”

Aziraphale’s lips had parted in shock. “Oh,” he whispered.

Crowley’s head jerked up and he searched Aziraphale’s face, eyes full of sudden fear. “I know you didn’t know that,” he said quickly. “If you didn’t-- mean it that way, if you don’t want-- or if you're just not sure, or, or anything-- I won’t hold you to it.” He released Aziraphale’s hand, retreating.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, a strange little half-smile on his lips. “After everything that’s happened today, I think that’s the _only_ thing I _am_ still sure of.” He reached out, and just a trace of uncertainty entered his voice. “Can’t you feel it?” 

Crowley seized his hands and shot forward to kiss him hard. _“Yes,”_ he breathed. “Yes, yes, _angel.”_ He kissed him again, and they fell together in a passionate embrace, caught in a tidal wave of fierce emotion.

Then Aziraphale pulled back, turning his face aside to wipe at his eyes. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said unevenly. “It’s just-- I had expected to be dead by now.” He laughed weakly, trying to hold back more tears.

“Angel,” Crowley cupped a comforting hand around his cheek. “Aziraphale. It’s _over_. The emperor is dead. I saw his body myself. You’re _safe_. It’s okay.” He held his eyes intently. “It’s _over.”_

His lips trembled. He pressed his face into Crowley’s shoulder, hiding his tears, fighting to control his breathing.

Crowley wrapped his arms around him and rubbed his back gently. “It’s okay, angel. It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’ve been so strong, for so long. But you don’t have to be strong anymore. I’ve got you. Let go, love. Let go.”

A sob tore its way out of Aziraphale’s chest, and at last he broke down. He cried hysterically into Crowley’s shoulder, clinging to him with desperate fingers, finally releasing all the pain and terror of the months he’d survived. His breath came in huge, shuddering gasps, and all the tears he’d been keeping back soaked into Crowley’s shirt. Crowley just held him, rocking gently, murmuring soft things with his lips against his hair.

Aziraphale turned his head to the side so he could be heard. “I love you,” he choked out. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. I-- I tried not to even think it, it hurt so much.” He buried his face in Crowley’s shoulder again, shaking with new tears. “I tried so hard-- to just be grateful-- to have anything at all, with you. Not to think about how much _more_ I wanted. How much you make me want to _live.”_ He broke down again, unable to speak.

Crowley held him tighter, protectively close. “You’re _going_ to live,” he said fiercely. “You’re going to be _happy_. You can have everything, everything I am, all of me, forever. We’re going to live, and we’re going to get old, and crotchety together, and drive everyone crazy with stories about our wild youth.” Aziraphale laughed damply. Then, softer: “And I’m going to love you till the day I die.”

“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” He repeated it like a prayer, over and over, for a long time.

Late that night, Anathema finally found her way to the camp where she hoped to find Aziraphale. She’d been asking about him ever since the fighting stopped and she and the other servants cautiously left the barricaded kitchen. She’d heard a lot of wild things, most of which couldn’t possibly be true, but everyone seemed to agree that he was with Crowley.

She approached the tent nervously. Every instinct she’d had when she saw them together screamed that Crowley loved him, that Aziraphale was safe with him, but… Crowley had lied about a lot of things. And even if he loved Aziraphale, it didn’t necessarily follow that he wouldn’t hurt him. Especially now, when he had the power to take anything he wanted.

Carefully, Anathema undid the ties on the tent enough that she could peer inside. What she saw there made her shoulders drop in relief.

Aziraphale was sprawled completely on top of Crowley, face tucked against his neck, fingers gripping his leather shirt. Crowley’s arms were wrapped around his shoulders and waist, holding him close even in sleep. Both of them were fully clothed down to their shoes and completely dead to the world. Anathema relaxed. Whatever had happened here, it wasn’t anything she’d feared.

She started to retie the opening and brushed against the fabric a little more loudly. Crowley’s eyes immediately cracked open. He caught sight of her looking in, glared, and twitched his fingers at her as if to say _Go away._

She rolled her eyes and flapped a hand at him, re-tied the tent, and went to find her own bed.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 1?  
> We've been building up to this for a long time! Please let me know what you thought!!!  
> Initially I thought I might end the whole story here, but I think there's more story to tell about them. I have an idea of where they're going to end up, but it's much less clearly plotted than everything up to now, so I'd be interested to hear people's suggestions!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I meant to get this up a bit sooner, but it has been A Week.  
> Enjoy an extra-long chapter of fluff and sex.  
> (Updates will probably be once a week from here on out, since I'm still working out what's going to happen. But comments make me want to write more!)

Aziraphale woke slowly. He could feel the warm motion of Crowley breathing underneath him, and smell the heady scent of his hair. He smiled faintly and tried to hold onto this hazy, half-asleep place where he was wrapped up in Crowley, the only time he really felt safe. Something was tugging him out of sleep, though: morning light shining on his face. Which was strange. It was never this bright in their bed in the mornings. The texture under his cheek felt strange, too. Smooth, but not the softness of cloth or bare skin. Aziraphale opened his eyes.

He saw the armor, the tent, and it all came flooding back. Over. It was over, and everything was strange and mad and new but they were together. He sucked his breath in a tiny gasp and turned his face farther into Crowley’s shoulder as a few new tears leaked out.

Crowley stirred beneath him, one hand rising to stroke his hair. “Morning, angel,” he mumbled, warm golden eyes blinking half-open with a sleepy smile. “How do you feel?”

“Better.” He closed his eyes and tried to impress every detail of this moment into his memory, the feeling of waking up in Crowley’s arms on this first morning, knowing he was free. “Wonderful, love.”

Crowley made a little sound at the new endearment, and then his hand on the back of Aziraphale’s head was guiding them into a kiss.

“Good,” he murmured against Aziraphale’s lips.

“I’m sorry I fell apart on you last night, my dear,” he felt compelled to say.

Crowley frowned. “Nuh uh. I wanted you to. I _told_ you to, remember?” Crowley held his eyes firmly until Aziraphale nodded, a little hesitantly. Crowley stroked his cheek. “‘S what you needed. I want you to have what you need.”

Aziraphale looked down, eyelashes fluttering. “I know,” he said softly.

“Good.” Crowley rubbed his back. “What do you need now, sweetheart?” he asked, all tender concern. “Yesterday was a lot.”

“Well.” Aziraphale’s lips curved in a mischievous smile. He felt so full of light and joy that it threatened to burst out of him, longing to be expressed. “You made me a lot of promises yesterday, darling.” He bent his knee, running his leg up the inside of Crowley’s calf and thigh. “And we haven’t had a chance to… celebrate.”

“I _see._ ” Crowley grinned. Then he wrapped one hand around Aziraphale’s hip and flipped them, pinning the smaller man under him. “Is that what you need, my angel? To celebrate?” he breathed, lips just brushing his.

Aziraphale’s head tipped back. “Yes,” he whispered. “Oh, Crowley--”

“My lord!” called a loud voice from the entrance to the tent.

Crowley jerked up. “What the _fuck_ do you want?” he snarled, twisting toward the voice without releasing Aziraphale.

There was a pause. “Um.” The voice sounded far less confident now. “I was sent to, ah, to tell you--”

“Come back _later_ ,” Crowley growled, turning back toward Aziraphale. Aziraphale could almost hear the nervous gulp.

“Darling,” he said reprovingly, extricating himself from beneath Crowley. “We’ll just be a moment,” he called.

“Ye-yes, sir,” the voice said nervously.

Aziraphale stood and straightened his rumpled clothes as best as he could, then turned to Crowley, who was still glowering on the ground. “We’d best go. Didn’t the queen say she wanted to talk to you this morning?”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “We were _busy,_ ” he grumbled.

Aziraphale took his hands and pulled him up. “We can be busy again later. After all, my love,” Crowley softened all over. “We have the rest of our lives, don’t we?”

Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale. “This is not a good way to convince me to leave the tent, angel. Talking like that.”

Aziraphale leaned into him and laughed. “Well, you’ll have to do it anyway, dearest.” He tugged him forward and opened the flaps.

The messenger was standing outside, and based on the deep red of his face he had a fair idea of what he’d interrupted. Crowley just glared at him and said, _“What?”_

“Ah-- Her Majesty requests your presence, my lord. And yours, um, your highness?” he said uncertainly.

Aziraphale grimaced. “Please don’t. My name will do just fine.”

He gulped, shooting Aziraphale a nervous glance. “Yes sir.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, lead on.”

The man turned stiffly and strode toward a connected courtyard. Walking behind him, Aziraphale murmured, “I’m going to _hate_ this, aren’t I.”

Crowley grinned. “If you ask me, it’s about time people started treating you with respect.”

He shot him a skeptical look. “There’s a difference between respect and fear. I have no interest in the latter.”

“I don’t know, one’s always worked as well as the other for me. You could have _lots_ of fun with everyone thinking you might turn them into a thin streak on the pavement if they annoy you.”

“You _would_ think that. Besides which, when they find out I _can’t_ do any such thing, that will be especially amusing to deal with.”

“Who knows what you can do, angel?”

“And you? Aren’t you worried I’ll incinerate you if you continue to _antagonize_ me?”

“Nahhh, I’ve been way more annoying than this. You could’ve kicked me out anytime. I know your secret. You _like_ me.”

“Much to my misfortune, yes.”

They came to a halt outside a large pavilion with sides pulled down for privacy. The messenger walked in, bowed deeply, then turned so they could enter.

Crowley strolled in and lounged against a table covered in maps as if he owned the place. He grinned cheerily at the queen, who was already glaring at him. “Ready to make my report, Your Majesty! Latest field mission went _really_ well. I’m sure you want to hear _all_ about it. Not like we have anything else to talk about.”

The queen stared at him flatly. Then she turned to Aziraphale. “Are you _sure_ he’s the one you want?” she asked incredulously. “I’m sure he must have been very charming, or something, but people who’ve known him _longer_ might tell you that he isn’t exactly the most _reliable.”_ She scowled at Crowley.

Aziraphale, who had bowed when he’d entered and stood listening politely, smiled. “Your Majesty, has anyone informed you that immediately before you summoned him yesterday, Crowley was releasing me from the palace dungeons?”

The queen blinked. “No,” she said, “they haven’t.”

Aziraphale bowed slightly. “The Empire is not an easy place to live when one is out of the emperor’s favor, as I’m sure you’re aware. The past few months have been… what I certainly hope will be the most difficult of my life. Crowley has been with me through all of it.” He walked to Crowley and took his hand. “I know everything about him that I need to know.” 

He looked up at his lover, adoration in every line of his face. Crowley smiled crookedly down at him. “Ruining my reputation, angel,” he murmured.

The queen took in this tableau, eyes narrowed. “I see,” she said. “Would you mind waiting outside for a moment, Prince Aziraphale? I’d like to debrief my spymaster privately.”

He released Crowley’s hand and bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Crowley’s eyes followed him out the door. “You shouldn’t call him that,” he said conversationally.

“What?” the queen asked impatiently.

“Prince. He hates it.”

She growled and threw her hands up in exasperation. “For fuck’s sake, Crowley, _why_ did it have to be _this_ one you decided to keep? You could have fed him some line about your duty and left him with a nice memory to keep him warm at night, but no! After climbing in and out of a _thousand_ beds no one gave a shit about, _this_ is the one you just _had_ to keep? Why?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “I find him very sexually attractive,” he drawled.

_“CROWLEY!”_

He blinked, surprised. The queen was on the edge of genuinely losing her temper, something he’d only seen once or twice before. She took a deep breath and pinched her nose.

“Do you _understand_ how powerful he’s going to be?” she said through gritted teeth.

“I’m beginning to get an idea,” he said guardedly.

“Then perhaps you can imagine what it might look like for him to lose control.” She spoke with careful calm. “He might accidentally vaporize you and anyone else nearby. He might demolish a building. Or a city. Or turn the entire kingdom into a smoking crater, and not even know what he was doing till it was over. All possibilities should you _break_ his _tender little heart_ , which you are apparently holding in your _incredibly fickle hands!”_ she snarled furiously.

Crowley’s face went hard. He straightened, easy posture now perfectly correct. “Your Majesty has formed a misapprehension both about Aziraphale’s character and the nature of our relationship,” he said stiffly.

“Have I,” she said cynically.

“Yes. You heard him say that he has been out of the emperor’s favor. The truth is that the emperor had been planning for months to eliminate him as heir. For all the time I’ve known him, he has been staring his own death in the face, and I have never once seen him flinch. He will tell you that there was nothing he could have done to prevent it, but that isn’t true. He had any number of chances to take unsavory deals to save his own life. He never even considered it. He chose physical and psychological torture over putting anyone else in danger. He may have a _tender heart_ , but he is not weak. He’s the strongest man I know.” He toyed with a pen that had been left on the table. “You’re never going to see that side of him, though,” he added casually.

“And why is that?”

“Because he’s mine now, and I will _eviscerate_ anyone who annoys him. For the rest of his life.” He met her eyes now. His own were flat and cold.

“Really.”

“Yes.”

She stared at him consideringly for a long moment. “You’re actually in love with him.”

“Yes.”

There was a pause. “I thought you’d just picked a bad moment to get obnoxiously possessive.” She blew her breath out in a long sigh. “Well, I guess this is better than if you were fucking around with him and getting ready to blow us all up when you got bored.” She slumped down into her chair. “Always expected you’d keep hopping from bed to bed for the rest of your life. Or find someone just as horrible as you are who you couldn’t keep your eyes off of.” She raised an eyebrow. “Never figured you’d fall for some pretty little blond prince.”

“Neither did I.”

She examined his face. “Keep him happy,” she ordered.

“I intend to.” There was an edge of warning in his voice.

She nodded. “I’ll send for you later. We’ll need to figure out what happens next.”

He bowed slightly, and left.

Aziraphale was seated outside on a low wall, face tilted into the sun. He opened his eyes and beamed at Crowley, and Crowley again had that feeling of being utterly bowled over by the joy in that smile. He practically glowed.

By the time he’d found his feet again Aziraphale was at his side. “So how much of that did you hear, angel?” he asked.

Aziraphale smiled smugly. “Please don’t eviscerate anyone who annoys me, darling.”

Crowley slid an arm around his waist and winked. “I promise I’ll ask your permission first.”

He laughed gaily. “I suppose that’ll do.” Crowley just stared at him, smiling like an idiot. “What’s next, love?”

“No royal commands at the moment. Whatever you want, angel.”

“In that case,” Aziraphale tilted his head, all innocent inquiry. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to get back to?”

They made it back to the tent in record time.

Crowley spent a long time just standing there kissing him, enjoying how _relaxed_ Aziraphale was in his arms, how easily he laughed when Crowley nosed at his neck, the light in his eyes when they pulled away to just look at each other. It was Aziraphale who finally grew impatient and tumbled Crowley down onto the pillows beneath them, laughing as he tugged his lover close by his hips.

“Am I going to _slow_ for you, angel?” he teased with a grin, nibbling at the soft spot behind Aziraphale’s ear.

“Well, darling, I imagine that sooner or later someone will interrupt us again, and I think it’s been two entire days since you’ve had me. I’m not accustomed to such neglect.” He raised his eyebrows challengingly.

“Ohhh, how terrible of me.” He cupped his hand between Aziraphale’s legs, feeling the heat that strained through his clothes. “I’ll have to take _really_ good care of _this_ , won’t I?”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “Mmm.” Their hands began to wander, then, and they got lost in the slow pleasure of kisses and touch.

Aziraphale broke off a kiss abruptly. “Crowley,” he said idly, not meeting his eyes. “Do you think any of your clothes would fit me?” 

“Uh.” Crowley blinked at the non-sequitur. “I doubt it, but I’m sure we could figure something out. Why?”

“Mmm,” Aziraphale answered vaguely, then pulled Crowley back into an enthusiastic kiss.

Crowley responded eagerly, but soon pulled away, “An-gel,” he chided. “What is it?”

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked up to his, then away. He was fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. Crowley recognized the telltale signs of “Aziraphale wants something he’s embarrassed to ask for” and ground down into his cock, resting a hand on his throat. Aziraphale whimpered in response, arching up into him. Crowley bent his head to whisper in his ear.

“Aziraphale,” he whispered, keeping up the shallow thrusts that made his lover writhe underneath him. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

“Ye-yes,” he gasped in response.

“Of course you are. And now you’re going to tell me what you’re thinking.” He increased the pressure against his throat just slightly. “Because you’re _so good_ for me, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale’s eyes met his, wide open and clouded with lust. “Crowley,” he spoke clearly, “I hate these clothes. I hate them. I only ever wore them because I had to, and now I never-- never want to again. Please.” His face was flushed, and his lips were parted.

Crowley blinked for a moment, putting together what he hadn’t quite said, then grinned predatorily. “You want me to _rip_ your clothes off, pretty angel?” he purred. “Do you think you’ll like that?”

“Yes.” His eyes dropped for a moment. “And-- I do rather like-- the symbolism of it all.”

Crowley growled, and pushed him back against the pillows with a rough kiss. “You want to walk around here wearing _my_ clothes, so _everyone_ will know who you belong to.”

“Yes. Please, yes.”

Crowley thought he might come in his pants right then. He leaned back on his haunches and his eyes raked possessively down Aziraphale’s body, his pink cheeks, his swollen lips, his hooded eyes fixed on Crowley. Then his hands went to the heavy ivory fabric at Aziraphale’s neck.

“Wait.” Aziraphale reached forward, and then he was pressing something into Crowley’s hand. “You’ll need that.” Crowley looked down uncomprehendingly at the hilt of one of his knives.

He stared at Aziraphale, his breath coming faster now. Deliberately, Aziraphale tilted his chin back, exposing the lovely line of his white neck down to the collar of his jacket. His arms were at his sides, fingers twisting slightly in the pillows in anticipation. Crowley felt heat pour through his body as he took in the sight: his beautiful angel, laid out beneath him, _asking_ him to take a knife and press it next to his throat and cut. Trusting him to do it.

 _I rather like the symbolism of it all_ , he’d said. Crowley felt dizzy with it.

Slowly, he gripped Aziraphale’s collar with one hand. Slowly, slowly, he pressed the knife against the thick fabric with the other. He felt the threads parting under his blade, felt when the embroidery offered more resistance and he had to press harder. He saw Aziraphale swallow and moved with him, keeping the edge away from his fragile throat. He was rock hard and aching now, but he paid his own body no attention. He drew the blade downward. He felt Aziraphale’s breath quicken under his hands. His eyes were fixed on the knife moving carefully, carefully down his lover’s chest, full of something like worship. When he passed below the waist Aziraphale’s breath rushed out in a quiet keen. “Stay still,” he whispered, pressing his fingers against Aziraphale’s hip. The other man whimpered slightly. 

Aziraphale was entranced by the sight of Crowley, still fully dressed in his dark armor, moving down his body with careful fingers. His warrior, his love, kneeling over him as he lay there helpless and wanting and utterly at his mercy.

When he was finished, Aziraphale lay exposed in the shredded remnants of his clothing. The blade had never once touched his skin. He was panting softly, his neglected cock hard against his stomach, arms still obediently motionless at his sides. His eyes on Crowley were full of adoration.

Crowley just stared down at him for a moment. Then with a cry he threw the knife away and lunged on top of him, kissing him and touching him frantically. Aziraphale’s arms flew around his neck and he moaned wildly.

“Crowley--Crowley--oh, Crowley,” he whimpered, and Crowley realized with a start that he was trembling on the edge of orgasm already.

After lying so still for so long while Crowley’s fingers ran down his body, barely touching him, the sudden contact set every nerve on fire. The soft catch of the leather against his bare skin drove him mad, and he felt totally exposed beneath his lover who was still wearing _armor_ , as if he’d come in from battle to strip Aziraphale naked and take him in any way he desired.

Then Crowley’s tongue was deep in his mouth, and his hand was reaching between them to wrap around Aziraphale’s length, and fiery pleasure was shooting through him as he thought of how _little_ Crowley had to do to make him come, how much every inch of him _ached_ for Crowley’s touch--

“Ah-- _ah-- ahhhh…”_ he cried into Crowley’s mouth, pulsing desperately into his fingers.

He went limp, trembling, and Crowley’s kisses turned gentle, his touch soothing. When he finally pulled away to look at him Crowley’s face was soft with wonder. “I love you, Aziraphale.” A finger came up to trace his cheek. “I love you. You’re so gorgeous. All mine. Forever.”

“Oh, yes,” he murmured woozily. “Mmm. Crowley.” He reached clumsily to press against Crowley’s cock where it still strained against his clothing. “I want… you to take me. Right now. However you want. Love you so much.”

Crowley chuckled a little, moving his hand away and pinning it to the pillow. “Think we need to wait a bit for that, angel.” Aziraphale frowned petulantly without opening his eyes. Crowley pressed a thumb against his lips. “Mmm. Be good for me now. Patient.” Aziraphale couldn’t resist nuzzling into his hand. Crowley cupped his face for a moment, then his touch disappeared briefly and then returned with damp fabric running across Aziraphale’s stomach, cleaning both of them. Aziraphale relaxed and drifted for a while, enjoying the gentle touches.

Gradually he came back to himself, opening his eyes to find Crowley propped up next to him, staring down at him with an adoring smile.

He smiled back. “I’m sorry, darling.” He sat up a bit.

Crowley shook his head. “That was incredible, angel. You’re incredible.”

He flushed slightly. “It certainly was for me.”

Crowley kissed him softly. “For me too.”

Aziraphale scooted forward into Crowley’s lap, wrapping his bare legs around his waist. “Are we done being _patient_ now, darling?” he murmured against his lips.

Crowley’s arms encircled him and he sank his fingers into his ass. “Oh, I guess so,” he said casually, massaging deeper. Aziraphale groaned in pleasure.

“So can we get to the part where you take me however you want?” he said lowly.

He grinned. “Aziraphale, how did I ever get this lucky?” He reached for the straps on his armor.

Aziraphale stopped him. “Ah, could I?” he asked, a little bashfully. He looked up at Crowley through his eyelashes. “I’ve been thinking of taking this off you ever since I saw you in it.”

“Fuck, yes.”

Aziraphale’s hands ran across his chest appreciatively, then slowly started unfastening buckles. As his hands moved, he started rocking his hips into Crowley’s where they were both growing hard again, sliding his bare erection against the tight leather.

Crowley groaned a little. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t _want_ to get this off me,” he said off-handedly.

Aziraphale turned bright red.

Crowley laughed. “You like it, angel?” he purred. “Like me all done up in leather? Or is it the idea that I couldn’t even be bothered to take it off before I tore off your clothes and took you?”

“Both, possibly,” he mumbled.

Crowley ran his tongue across the curve of his shoulder. “Maybe I _should’ve_ fucked you in that dungeon,” he said thoughtfully. “Could’ve left the shackles on. Pulled you into my lap just like this. Moved just enough of our clothes out of the way to get my cock inside you.” Aziraphale shuddered. Crowley kissed his way up his neck. “I wanted to, you know. As soon as I knew you were safe. Wanted to have you right then and there.” He bit gently at his earlobe. “We could do it now, if you want.” Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically.

Crowley looked around for a moment, then leaned over and grabbed a long, silk scarf. He tossed one end up and over the pole that ran along the ceiling of the tent. Then he slowly ran his hands up Aziraphale’s arms, guiding them over his head, carefully tying each wrist to an end of the scarf, first one arm, then the other.

Aziraphale tugged gently. His arms were trapped above his head, and his pulse quickened. Crowley’s lips spread in a slow smirk as he ran his eyes down Aziraphale’s naked body. “Right where I want you.”

His hands went to Aziraphale’s hips and guided them to start rocking again, controlling the cadence, keeping it much too slow to ever bring them off. “Keep going,” he murmured in his ear, and released him.

Aziraphale whimpered and obeyed, and for a moment Crowley just _watched_ him, bound and naked and rubbing himself against Crowley like he was desperate for anything he could get.

“That’s right. So beautiful and dying for me to fuck you. Oh, yes.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “But I interrupted you, didn’t I? So rude of me. I’ll have to finish the job, won’t I.” He started unhurriedly undoing the straps on his chest. 

Aziraphale’s hips stuttered. Crowley looked at him sternly. “Behave now, angel. Keep going.”

He whined, and obeyed.

By the time Crowley had opened the final buckle and removed the chestplate, Aziraphale’s thighs were trembling and his cock was aching and overstimulated from the constant friction, desperate for more or less, he didn’t know anymore. But he kept moving, pressing their bodies together just as he’d been told.

Crowley ran his hands up Aziraphale’s quivering thighs. “So good,” he murmured. Then he pulled his shirt over his head in one smooth movement. “So good for me. You can stop. It’s time for me to get you ready for my cock.” Aziraphale moaned. Crowley pressed his fingers against his mouth. “Suck.”

Aziraphale opened his lips willingly and Crowley slid three fingers inside. He enjoyed the sight of Aziraphale tied up and sucking his fingers hard, writhing helplessly on his lap. He fucked them in and out of his angel’s soft, pink lips, pressing deeper to make him choke just a little. He felt Aziraphale’s cock pulse in response. His wide, blue eyes were fixed on Crowley, and he looked absolutely wrecked.

Crowley guided Aziraphale toward him, their bare chests pressing against each other, the blond head falling to his shoulder. He reached around him and pressed the first spit-slick finger inside him.

 _“Oh!”_ Aziraphale shivered and arched as Crowley carefully worked him open, and by the time he was done he was pleading.

“I think you're ready for me, angel,” he murmured into his curls. “Now, how was this next part supposed to go?” he asked teasingly. “Mmm, right. You liked the leather.” He pushed his clothes down just enough to free his cock, gripped Aziraphale firmly by the hips, and entered him.

Aziraphale cried out loudly. He was so deep, and it felt so good, and the friction against his cock where Crowley was thrusting was sensitive and just this side of painful, but the sensation of Crowley buried inside him was sending pleasure bursting through his body with every motion. Crowley was moaning against his shoulder, and his fingers were digging tightly into his waist. A wave of intense tenderness poured through him, and he pressed his lips into Crowley’s hair. They were here, and Crowley had surrounded him with so many overwhelming sensations that he felt like his body might fly apart with rapture, and love was the most overwhelming of all of them.

“Love you,” he panted. “Love you, love you, _love you…”_

Crowley groaned and embraced him closer, pace quickening. Then Aziraphale was gasping, and coming desperately in Crowley’s arms, feeling Crowley pulsing inside him a moment after.

Crowley held him, both breathing hard. Then his hands were deftly untying Aziraphale’s, carefully checking them to make sure they were unmarked.

“They’re fine, darling,” he reassured him.

Crowley smiled at him. “Good. Stupid idea, doing that so soon after you were chained up for real.” He stroked his fingers over the delicate skin of his wrists. “Didn’t think about it till now. You’re sure you’re all right?”

“I’m a good deal better than all right, my love.” Crowley smiled with that dreamy look he’d been wearing every time Aziraphale called him that. “Though I would quite like to lie down.”

Crowley gently tipped them over to sink into the pillows. Aziraphale couldn’t quite hide a wince as he straightened his legs.

“What? What is it?” Crowley asked quickly.

“Nothing, dearest, I’m just a touch sore. My legs, and my shoulders where my arms were overhead.” A guilty look flashed across Crowley’s face. “None of that now. I’m quite interested in doing things that are… _strenuous_ with you from time to time. This is only the result of that.”

“Well, the least I can do is take care of it after.” Crowley turned him over onto his stomach and started gently massaging his shoulders.

“I won’t argue with you about that,” Aziraphale mumbled into the pillows. He relaxed and enjoyed the feeling of Crowley’s hands moving over his body, releasing tension. He let his mind wander, slowly processing the events of the previous day. After a while, he asked, “You really think the queen will let us stay together?”

“I do.” His voice was calm and confident.

“Even though she was angry.”

“Yes. She’s not the sort to go after a problem with brute force unless she has to. I’m sure she’s busy thinking up all kinds of ways to convince us that we _really_ want to do whatever she wants us to do.” He ran a hand soothingly down Aziraphale’s back. “But we’ll deal with that when we have to. She won’t try to separate us when it would turn us both against her.”

He nodded, trying to trust that it was true. He turned slightly to look up at Crowley. “There’s one thing I don’t understand, dearest. Yesterday, in the throne room…” He gripped his hands nervously, and Crowley lay down to wrap an arm around him. “When I turned to look at you, you looked _frightened.”_ He looked at Crowley searchingly. “Were you really worried I was going to pick someone _else?_ For power or status or something?” His voice was incredulous and just a little hurt.

“No.” Crowley shook his head quickly. “No, I knew you wouldn’t, but--”

“Then why?”

He looked down. “I was afraid you’d ask for time,” he said quietly. “I knew you weren’t going to-- sail off with some random stranger. But you’d just had the worst day of your life, and everything was happening so fast, and it’s what she was pressuring you to do, and it isn’t as if we’d ever _talked_ about-- commitment-- and I thought--'' He hesitated, hand running up and down Aziraphale’s side. “No one could’ve blamed you for wanting to just-- stop. Take a breath, sleep on it, get your thoughts together. But if you had…”

“If I had?” he asked, a touch of fear coiling in his stomach.

Crowley’s arms tightened. “She didn’t want you to pick me. You’re powerful, or you will be, and she wants to be sure you’ll stay under her control. The best way to do that would be to have you with someone she already controls. Someone who follows orders. Someone who doesn’t ask a lot of questions and then occasionally fuck off and do whatever he wants. Not me.” Aziraphale’s arm moved instinctively to cling to Crowley in return. “You may not have noticed, but she promised she wouldn’t force you to be with someone you didn’t like. She didn’t promise to let you choose whoever you wanted. If you’d gone off with her, there’re plenty of ways she could’ve kept us apart. Including trying to convince you that _I_ wasn’t coming to see _you_. That I’d left you.”

“I wouldn’t have believed that,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley buried his face in his shoulder. “I-- I know. I was pretty sure you wouldn’t. And it’s hard for a ruler to keep things from their own spies. I’m sure I would’ve found you eventually. But I--”

Aziraphale buried a hand in Crowley’s hair and pulled him close. “I know. It would’ve been… hard. And I needed you, right then. I need you now. Not weeks of dealing with machinations meant to keep us apart.”

“I need you too.” His voice was barely audible.

“I know, my love. You have me. All of me, all my heart, forever.”

Crowley sniffed. “And I knew you were still… fragile. Still hurting. If I’d had to watch you walk away, go to people who wouldn’t take care of you, when all I wanted was to--” His voice broke.

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale rocked him gently. “I’m here. I’m all right. It’s all right. I didn’t leave. And darling--” He put both hands on Crowley’s face, pulling him up to meet his eyes. “I did it because I didn’t _need_ time to take a breath or sleep on it or get my thoughts in order. I didn’t need to be calm or clearheaded to know that you are everything I will ever want.” 

Crowley’s breath hitched, and he pressed forward to kiss him, eyes squeezed shut. Aziraphale held his face tenderly and kissed him softly back.

“We’re all right, love,” he whispered. “We’re all right.”

Maybe if he kept saying it, he'd start believing it was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought there was ANY chance there wouldn't be a sex scene featuring that leather outfit...  
> Also any tent I've ever been in would definitely collapse if you tried to tie someone to it, but we'll assume Crowley's tent is sturdier than average.  
> I hope you enjoyed!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a transitional chapter, but hopefully still fun :)

“This is really a very nice garden, isn’t it? I can’t say that I ever really noticed before. Those roses are lovely. And those-- those fluffy white ones. Aren’t they big?”

“Peonies, angel. Honestly, don’t you come from the country?”

“That doesn’t mean I keep a garden _myself,_ dear. You’re from the city, aren’t you? Does that mean you know about-- about building construction?”

Crowley snorted. “Not sure that’s the same as the names of flowers, angel.”

“Well,” he huffed, “they’re _pretty,_ is what I was saying, don’t you think?”

“They’re nice enough.” What was nicer, in Crowley’s view, was holding Aziraphale’s hand while they walked and listening to him chatter easily about whatever happened to come into his mind.

Aziraphale sniffed. “You’re hard to please. I think they’re very beautiful.”

Crowley smirked and gave Aziraphale a blatant once-over. “I _am_ hard to please.”

And Aziraphale blushed prettily and flapped a hand at him, looking embarrassed and flattered, which was exactly what Crowley had meant for him to do.

Aziraphale was enjoying this walk _very_ much. Some part of him still felt a little nervous to be with Crowley in public, waiting for some horrible consequences to drop on their heads, but the longer they spent walking around together, the safer it seemed. It felt utterly dreamlike to be strolling among the roses with Crowley, thinking privately how like a rose Crowley was himself, all elegant beauty and fire and passion and danger. It was exactly the sort of thing he’d imagined in his most painful fantasies, when he couldn’t stop himself from picturing what it would have been like if they’d met under better circumstances. He couldn’t quite believe it was happening-- except when his sense of reality flipped, and _this_ felt real, safe and normal, and the past few months felt like the dream. Who would have believed that _he_ would have a secret lover he only met at night out of danger to their lives? It was utterly fantastic.

He smoothed a hand self-consciously over the black satin he was now wearing. Crowley had stuck his head out of the tent and yelled for someone, passed them a bundle of fabric, and it had come back in a few hours as adjusted clothing with laces that would allow him to fit it to his own shorter, rounder form. It certainly felt good to be rid of the clothing that he’d worn on the floor of the dungeon-- and this was beautiful, and entirely different from anything he’d worn before in his life. The fabric was soft and luxurious where it moved against his skin, and between that and the way it _smelled_ like Crowley, it almost felt like Crowley’s hands on him.

But that wasn’t a train of thought to follow too far while they were in public. When he’d first put them on, he’d turned around and asked, “How do I look?” and Crowley had just stared at him, face slowly turning red. Then Aziraphale had been tackled back into the pillows, and their departure had been delayed for _quite_ some time. Even now, Crowley would occasionally shoot him what he probably thought were subtle glances, his cheeks turning faintly pink at the sight of the dark clothing.

Aziraphale rambled on, enjoying the flowers and the cool evening air, Crowley’s warm hand in his and the teasing remarks he kept making. “...and then there was another time when Anathema told me-- oh my god, Anathema!” He jerked to a halt. “Crowley, we have to go look for Anathema! I hope she’s all right-- do you think she could have been hurt? I don’t know how I didn’t even _think--”_

“Relax, angel, she’s fine. She came by last night after you were asleep.”

“And you shooed me away. He’s a great host.” Anathema stood there with her arms crossed, a teasing smile pulling at her lips. “Hi, Az. Nice to hear that _eventually_ you remembered me.”

Aziraphale blushed. “I am _so_ very sorry, my dear girl. I’ve been terribly selfish, but so much has happened in the past day I’ve hardly known if I was on my head or my heels--”

She grinned in spite of herself. “It’s fine, Az. Sounds like your life got turned upside down pretty quickly.” Her eyes narrowed. “And _I_ want to hear what _actually_ happened from you, not the crazy rumors.” She linked her arm through Aziraphale’s and tugged him away, looking at Crowley. “You work for these people, don’t you? Isn’t there some spy thing you should be doing right now? We’re going to go have a drink and Aziraphale’s going to explain why he was sleeping in your tent instead of looking for his old friend Ana.”

Crowley saw Aziraphale pale suddenly, eyes turning panicked as he instinctively gripped Crowley’s hand to stop them being separated. Crowley squeezed his hand and caught his wide, frightened eyes. “What, you’re going to take away my excuse for slacking off? I’m supposed to be looking after him. Royal orders and everything,” he said lightly for Anathema’s benefit, trying to project reassurance to his lover.

Anathema rolled her eyes. “Well you’ll have to manage. We’ll be in the kitchens if you _have_ to come find him.”

Aziraphale took a breath and released Crowley’s hand, nodding minutely. Crowley heaved a dramatic sigh. “All _right_ , if you _insist,_ ” he complained. “Any of the messengers should be able to find me when you _inevitably_ get bored without my presence.”

Some of the tension left Aziraphale’s shoulders. Anathema shot Crowley an exasperated look and started walking toward the kitchens, pulling Aziraphale along with her. “Uh huh. We’ll see you later.”

She walked rapidly without speaking until they entered the hubbub of the kitchens, whose noise and activity created its own kind of privacy. Then she gripped Aziraphale’s shoulders urgently. “Az, _are you all right?_ This thing with him, is it all right? I thought you seemed okay, but I wasn’t sure, and you _know_ if you need to get away from him I can help you, you don’t have to do this if you--”

Aziraphale laughed weakly and shook his head to cut her off. “No, no, it’s not like that at all. It’s all quite-- quite consensual, I assure you. Crowley would never, ah, do anything else.”

Anathema examined his face closely, brow still furrowed with concern. “He’s still with them, the Alandans. Even if he didn’t force you, did you really feel like you could say no?” she asked bluntly.

Aziraphale blushed. “You’ve gotten entirely the wrong impression, my dear girl. Crowley and I, we’ve--” He turned redder. “we’ve been, ah, _together_ for quite some time. Well before there was any invasion. If anything, I was the one who needed to be concerned that _he_ felt free to refuse _me_. And even now, I-- well, I hardly know how to explain everything that’s happened, but I’m not reliant on him for protection. I’m quite all right,” he said firmly.

Anathema raised an eyebrow. “Quite some time, hmm? And how long would that be?”

“...since we met…” he mumbled, looking down.

“Are you _serious?_ You’ve been sleeping with that lunatic for _months_ and nobody knew? Why didn't you _tell_ me about it?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Because I thought our erstwhile monarch would likely murder him,” he said dryly. “I thought it best to make sure no one at all knew.”

She nodded, a little chastened. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s quite all right.” He patted her arm. “Didn’t you say something about a drink, my dear?” 

Anathema perked up at that and guided him to a couple of stools tucked away in the corner of the kitchen, grabbing a bottle and a couple of cups on her way over. She poured a clear liquid with eye-watering fumes into the glasses and pressed one into his hand. He braced himself for something that tasted like cleaning fluid, and was shocked at the smooth, smoky taste. “Where on earth did you get this, Ana?” he asked in shock.

She winked. “No one’s paying close attention to inventory right now, are they? The nobles who’d be mad about their private stashes getting raided are mostly locked up. And if they _do_ get let out eventually, who’s going to blame _us_ and not the wicked invaders if things have gone missing?”

He chuckled at that. “To the surprising advantages of foreign conquest, then.” He raised his cup, and they toasted.

“So. Az.” She leaned forward. _“Everyone’s_ been talking about you, and him, but mostly you, and what they’ve been saying has been _wild_. _What happened?”_

Aziraphale took a breath, and told her.

By the time he’d finished, they’d had more of that bottle than was probably wise, and Anathema looked totally poleaxed. “Well. That’s a lot.” She took another drink. “So you have some kind of magical powers--”

“--allegedly--”

“--and you’re basically married to Crowley to keep the queen of Alanda happy.”

“Well. I wouldn’t say that’s the _reason_ , precisely.” He smiled a private little smile. “He’s really very lovely, you know.”

Anathema’s face softened. “You went and fell in love with him, didn’t you.”

“Very much so.” He blinked away sudden dampness in his eyes. “I can’t imagine what he sees in me to hold his interest, but I’m very-- very grateful that he does.”

Anathema shoved his shoulder affectionately. “Don’t be stupid, you’re wonderful. Everybody loves you. The real question is, what do _you_ like about _him?”_ She grinned wickedly. “He’s an annoying little shit when he’s working, but I bet he’s different with you, isn’t he? Is he good in bed? You two spent a _lot_ of time alone together in that room. Did he get creative? He seems like the adventurous type. What have you been getting up to, hmm?”

“Oh my god,” he groaned, and buried his face in his hands while she cackled.

Crowley ambled around the herb gardens near the kitchens, bored. If Aziraphale felt comfortable going off on his own to talk to his friend, that was what he should do, but Crowley sure as hell wanted to be close by if his angel suddenly changed his mind and needed him.

A polite cough interrupted his loitering. “My lord Crowley? The generals have a matter they would like to consult you on, if you aren’t otherwise occupied?”

Crowley gagged a little internally. Running around the castle for the past few months carrying messages and serving drinks and generally being treated like a pair of hands with no brain attached hadn’t always been fun, but it was a good bit more comfortable than people bowing and scraping at him. “I don’t report to the _generals,”_ he said acidly. 

The other man, who most certainly did report to the generals, looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. “Um--”

Crowley sighed loudly. “Fine, what do they want?”

What they wanted was, to be fair, something no one else could provide-- information on the members of the imperial nobility who were currently being held prisoner, most specifically on who could be trusted to run back to their estates with their tails between their legs and cause no trouble if released, and who was likely to Foment Discord. Crowley strolled through the dank passages muttering names, information, and his own personal opinion on the relative despicableness of a group of largely despicable people. Many of the colorful details he was sharing would probably be of no interest to the generals, but if they wanted his opinion they could suffer through all of it in the meticulous notes their clerk was taking down.

“Oh, and this one, he’s a _real_ prize--”

“Crowley?”

Crowley’s head snapped around and a broad smile spread itself unconsciously across his face. Aziraphale was descending the stairs, looking down at him curiously, Aziraphale all dressed in _his_ clothing (god, what that did to him), come looking for _him_ \--

“You treacherous little _shit!”_

Oh. Of course. The man in the cell in front of him, he was that duke who’d tried to pressure Aziraphale into marrying him. And now he was seeing Aziraphale, free when the rest of the nobility was imprisoned. Wearing the colors of the enemy.

Even knowing the man was behind bars, Crowley moved instinctively closer to Aziraphale. The duke’s eyes narrowed. “You little whore. So this is what’s happened to our prissy little prince. Not so superior now, are you? You’d rather spread your legs for some filthy foreign peasant than stay loyal to your own country. Well, you--”

Aziraphale’s restraining arm stopped Crowley from whatever he was about to do. “It’s fine, darling.” He smiled placidly at the duke. “He is right, after all. I would _much_ rather spread my legs for you than remain loyal to the imperial aristocracy.” Crowley glanced at him, lips twitching.

The duke gripped the bars, bringing his face as close to them as possible. “You’ll get what you deserve in the end, you dirty little traitor. He’ll leave you in the gutter where you belong, you’ll have to--”

Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley, ignoring the continuing insults. “Are you done here, dearest? I thought we might get something to eat.”

Crowley grinned fiercely down at him. Sometimes he got so caught up in protectiveness that he forgot that Aziraphale was tougher than any of these bastards. “Let’s.”

They turned together and he kissed Aziraphale’s hand showily, wrapping an affectionate arm around his waist. The shouts behind them continued.

“The emperor was right about you! Some of us thought he was going a bit far, but you deserved every--”

Crowley’s hand was around his throat before he realized he was moving. The duke choked, clawing at his neck, but he couldn’t break his grip.

“Crowley, please.”

He released him. The man fell to the floor, gasping for breath. Crowley turned to the clerk who’d watched all this dispassionately. “Make sure something unpleasant happens to him,” he growled. “In fact…” he smiled maliciously. “Make sure the queen hears that he threatened the Conduit’s safety. She really should know about that.” The man raised an impressed eyebrow, then bowed slightly in agreement.

“Come, darling. He really doesn’t matter.”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand. “No. He doesn’t.”

Back in the security of their tent, Crowley swung toward Aziraphale abruptly and lifted him off his feet in an ardent kiss. “You,” he said fiercely, “are perfect. And beautiful. And brave. And clever. And kind. And _so much better_ than any of the bastards who were running things around here. And you deserve _everything_ you want.” He kissed him again for emphasis. “Everything.”

Aziraphale laughed. “I’m really not sure what more you think I could want, now that I have you, darling.” He stroked his face. “I’m not upset that some vile megalomaniac is angry that I ended up better off than he is. You don’t have to worry.”

Crowley tucked his face into Aziraphale’s neck. “Doesn’t mean I like listening to it,” he grumbled.

“Well, I see no reason why you should listen to it again. We are well rid of all of them. Now.” He settled on the floor, straight-backed and cross-legged. “Dinner?”

Crowley smiled down at his love, so proper and cheerful and so very _brave._ He sat.

Dinner was a long affair, frequently interrupted when Crowley decided Aziraphale needed to be kissed some more, and once for quite a long time when Aziraphale decided that his needs went a bit beyond kissing. Mostly, though, they talked, long and rambling discussions about nothing in particular. Eventually Aziraphale got onto the topic of books, which meant he wouldn’t get off that topic for some appreciable time to come. Crowley smiled and settled in.

“...if you haven’t read them you simply _must,_ I have three different editions in my library at home--”

Crowley started slightly. “You have a library at home?” It wasn’t surprising, really-- not surprising at all-- only Aziraphale had never mentioned it before.

“Yes, of course, dear, it’s simply lovely--” And he was off again, in an incredibly detailed description of what was clearly his favorite reading space, a high honor in Aziraphale’s heart. Crowley had the slowly dawning realization that Aziraphale had never discussed any part of his home in detail before, and that he must have been deliberately avoiding the subject.

His monologue slowly trailed off and Aziraphale’s eyes lowered. His fingers moved to worry at the sleeves of his shirt. “I--” His eyes flicked up to Crowley’s, then back down. “I’d love for you to see it someday. If that were ever to be possible.”

Crowley took his hands.

“Excuse me, very urgent, must talk to Her Majesty now, _thank_ you!” Crowley shoved his way into the royal tent with very little ceremony. “Your Majesty!” he announced. “My partner requires rest and relaxation to recover from all the shocks he’s been through. ‘S very stressful around here, don’t know _what_ he’ll do if he has to stay. Requesting permission to take him to his family home.” He bowed with an exaggerated flourish.

Queen Beelzebub looked skeptically at his performance. “All right.”

He blinked. “All right?”

“Well he isn’t any use to me until he has his powers, and I’m not going to risk getting blown up trying to activate them,” she said, as if Crowley was being particularly dim.

“Right. Right. Of course.”

“And it is _extremely_ important that he stay calm. Stable. Happy. You’re going to take care of that, Crowley.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, terrible charge you’re putting on me, Your Majesty.”

“It’s not your usual forte, but I trust that you’re sufficiently motivated to _learn.”_ She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling idly. “Take a few months. I’ll need my spymaster back eventually, of course. If he shows any signs of coming into his powers, you’ll send word _immediately_ , and bring him to me unless it’s unsafe to do so.” She focused her laser gaze on him. “Is that understood.”

Crowley’s expression was flat. “I understand.”

She narrowed her eyes. “He needs the protection of a monarch, Crowley. You won’t like what will happen to him if he starts using his powers and people think he’s free for the taking. Do as I say.”

He nodded stiffly.

“Good.” She relaxed. “Go on, then. Have fun. Call it a honeymoon, if you like.”

Crowley’s lips twitched into an unwilling smile. “Maybe I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are now into what I think of as the second arc, which is mostly going to be about recovery and settling into a new normal, to give you an idea of what to expect!

Traveling together meant learning new things about each other, something they were both eager to do. For example, Crowley was learning that Aziraphale was an atrocious rider. He’d known vaguely that his partner did not enjoy navigating obstacles on horseback, but this was something else. They were moving at what could only be described as a sedate pace, and even so by the end of the day Aziraphale was visibly uncomfortable. And no wonder, with a seat like that.

Crowley, on the other hand, had spent the day firmly suppressing his own desire to speed up, feel the wind in his face,  _ get  _ where they were going. All that flew out of his head in an instant when he saw Aziraphale wince as he started to dismount. Crowley was off his own horse in a flash and gently lifting Aziraphale down by the waist. Back on the ground, he stumbled slightly and leaned against him gratefully.

“Thank you, my dear,” he murmured.

Crowley looked him over critically. “We should walk for a bit before we go inside,” he announced.

“You’re joking.”

Crowley grinned wryly. “I know, I know, but you’ll just stiffen up if you sit down now. It’ll hurt worse in the long run.”

Aziraphale heaved a long-suffering sigh and hobbled off with him.

“How the hell did you make it all the way to the capital the first time, angel?” Crowley asked curiously.

Aziraphale’s shoulders tensed. “In a carriage,” he said tersely. His eyes went dark and distant. “I don’t believe I was  _ actually  _ locked in, but they weren’t about to put me on a horse and risk me riding off. Not that I could manage something like that, but they weren’t to know.” He smiled thinly. “I suppose the emperor claimed the rather excessive number of guards was for my protection. They didn’t let me out until we arrived.”

Crowley’s eyes flashed. “How long was that?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I-- I’m not sure. I very much expected that the purpose of the exercise was to-- arrange some accident, on the road. I suppose he decided it would look bad, or maybe he preferred to dispose of me officially if he could possibly manage it. But I spent the trip quite certain that something was about to happen at any moment. It’s all a bit of a blur.”

Crowley pulled him close. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No-- no. It’s-- something of a relief, to speak about these things with you. I really can’t imagine talking about it with anyone else, but… it isn’t as if I’m likely to forget.”

Crowley stroked his hair. “Maybe not. But it’ll fade with time. And better memories to block it out.”

Aziraphale smiled, eyes closing as he rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “I’m certainly acquiring those at an alarming rate.”

“Good.” He rubbed Aziraphale’s back and thought. “You know, it’s not like we’re on a schedule. There’s no reason this trip needs to be unpleasant. Why don’t we slow down, stop more often, maybe walk some of the time. Or we could find a carriage, if you’d rather. What do you think?”

“The first one sounds nice. I think I’ve had my fill of carriages for a while, but taking the time to enjoy this with you sounds lovely.” He reached up and tucked a strand of red hair behind Crowley’s ear. “You know, we’ve spent so little time together anywhere but in that room. I’m constantly surprised by how different you look in the sun.”

He tilted his chin back, and Crowley took the invitation to lean in for a kiss.

Later, after dinner, they went up the stairs of the inn and into the tiny room they’d rented for the night. Aziraphale stopped in the doorway and blinked at the steaming bathtub that was waiting for them. He turned to Crowley. “Have I told you today that I absolutely adore you?” he asked fervently.

“Hmm, no, I don’t think so. Tell me more.” Crowley grinned over his shoulder as he locked the door.

Aziraphale laughed and stepped in close, running his hands up Crowley’s chest. One hand came to rest on the side of his neck and he leaned in. “You should also know,” he whispered seductively, “that you are absolutely incorrigible.” He bit down gently on Crowley’s ear.

“Mmm. Obviously.” He reached forward and started loosening the ties on Aziraphale’s clothing. “You know, we never did take that bath together.”

“Sounds lovely.” Aziraphale’s voice had gone slightly high-pitched; Crowley was being very free with his hands and he undressed him. “Very-- relaxing.” He slid his hands down and began to return the favor, and soon their fingers were moving over the warm softness of bare skin. They stood inches from each other, hands wandering, not embracing yet, letting the heat build between them. Aziraphale’s lips had parted, and his eyes never left Crowley’s.

Finally Crowley drew him over to the bath, and they both sank into the water. Aziraphale hissed at the heat, then slowly relaxed, leaning back against the side. At the other end of the tub, Crowley took hold of his ankle and pulled it toward him. Aziraphale blinked at him in surprise.

“You’re sore from riding. I thought this would help.” He took a small bottle that had been resting next to the tub and drizzled some kind of oil over his hands, then reached under the water and ran them up Aziraphale’s calf.

“Oohhh, yes,” he moaned as Crowley’s long fingers found all the places where he was aching and pressed into them in small circles, easing the discomfort and leaving pleasure in its wake.

Crowley moved slowly. He spent a long time on each of his lover’s calves, only to move down and stroke all the tension out of his feet. Aziraphale made a small noise of protest at some point, wanting to address an entirely different ache, but Crowley shushed him. “Let me take care of you, angel.”

“You always do,” he murmured, unable to summon the energy to continue to argue. He relaxed into the sensation, watching Crowley’s intent face, the way the muscles in his arms moved, the way a bead of water traced down his chest. He thought about tracing that same path with his tongue, how all that glorious bare skin would feel. Finally Crowley made his way up to his thighs, but even then he moved slowly, finding every knot and loosening it with gentle, insistent fingers. He had inched gradually closer to Aziraphale to reach more of him, and now they were half-tangled together. Crowley’s hands were massaging the upper part of his thighs and around his hips, now, and he brushed against Aziraphale’s aching erection. He whimpered, but didn’t move; he felt as if he’d dissolved into the water, and he wasn’t sure he knew how to move anymore. Crowley kept working, and those light, incidental touches against Aziraphale’s most intimate places kept happening, till he was panting where he lay, loose and pliant in the water.

“So patient for me, love,” Crowley murmured, voice dark with desire. “Do you want me to touch you  _ here?”  _ One finger traced agonizingly up his stiff erection.

“Please, darling,” he gasped.

In one motion, Crowley leaned forward and kissed him, circled one arm around his waist to pull them together, and wrapped the other hand around his cock. Aziraphale arched in his arms, moaning against his lips. Then he reached down and shifted Crowley’s hand, so it was stroking both of them together, and joined it with his own. Crowley grunted in surprise, then leaned into it, thrusting his hips upward into the slick circle of their hands.

“Angel,” he moaned. “Ah-- angel.” He rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s and they moved together, holding each other, bodies rocking against each other in the water.

“Crowley,” he whispered. “My Crowley.” And then they were coming, gasping out their pleasure together as it peaked.

Afterward they clung to each other, panting. “I love you,” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley laughed breathlessly. “I love you too, angel.” He cradled Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kissed him softly, expression full of warmth and contentment.

Finally they got out of the water, laughing as they dried each other off, tumbling into bed naked to make love again before falling asleep, tangled in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally intended their trip to take up about a paragraph with some jokes about Crowley wanting to go fast and Aziraphale wanting to go slow, but then I saw an opportunity for bathtub sex and who was I to let that pass?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope everyone else's week has been better than mine, which featured an illness that has turned out NOT to be the virus, but made for an unpleasant and nerve-wracking few days. I hope you enjoy inhabiting Crowley and Aziraphale's happy little world as much as I do.

The rest of the trip was much like that: slow and sweet, with long walks in the sun and long meals and long evenings making love. Once Crowley had realized that his preferred mode of travel would not be pleasant for Aziraphale, he put thoughts of their arrival out of his mind and completely gave himself over to enjoying each day, while making sure that Aziraphale experienced as much pleasure as he could in every possible way. He was so very focused on this that it caught him by surprise when one morning while they were getting dressed, Aziraphale cleared his throat and said much too casually, “We should arrive today, my dear.”

“Oh.” Crowley blinked, still half-focused on lacing up Aziraphale’s shirt. “Well, that’s good. Excited?”

“Yes, of course,” he said in a strained voice, wringing his hands. Crowley crooked an eyebrow. Aziraphale bit his lip and released it all in a long gust. “Only it’s been rather a long time that I’ve been away, and I don’t know how things may have changed, especially if they weren’t expecting me back, and I don’t know if you’ll-- it isn’t very exciting, you know, you’ll probably find it dull, but I-- I just--” He looked up at Crowley, eyes wide with dismay. “I didn’t think I’d get to go back,” he said helplessly.

Crowley took his hands. “It’s all right to be nervous, Aziraphale, it’s a big day.” He kissed one hand, and then the other. “I’ll be happy as long as you are. I don’t need to be entertained all the time.” He winked. “I make my own trouble. And it’ll probably feel weird at first, but it hasn’t been _that_ long you’ve been gone. Give it a few days, I bet you’ll settle back in just fine.”

Aziraphale nodded doubtfully.

It was late afternoon when they rode up to Aziraphale’s home. The old, red brick was warm in the golden light, and the sun glinting off the windows looked almost like the house was winking. A friendly looking place, more like a large house than the manor Crowley had vaguely expected, with flowering bushes crowding around the base of it and vines clinging to the walls. Aziraphale was staring at it like it was heaven.

Suddenly the front door slammed open and someone exited with a shriek of, _“Aziraphale!”_

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale, and clambered off his horse.

A brightly-colored whirlwind tore up the drive and seized Aziraphale in an embrace. “Zira-- sweetie-- you’re here! Oh my god, you’re back. Are you all right, honey? Let me look at you.” The whirlwind resolved into an older woman with violently red hair, who gripped his cheeks rather aggressively. “You look pale. Are you sick? Oh, you’ve lost weight, have you been eating properly? I’ll fix something right up--”

“It’s good to see you too, Tracy,” Aziraphale said, smiling with damp eyes. 

“Ohhhh!” The woman was openly weeping as she hugged Aziraphale tight again.

She finally noticed Crowley. “And who is _this?”_ she asked Aziraphale with a raised eyebrow. Crowley dismounted quickly and walked over to the pair.

Aziraphale smiled warmly at him, lips quivering a little with emotion. “I’d like you to meet Crowley. My betrothed.”

For an instant, Crowley felt like his insides had turned to jelly, and he knew that stupid, lovestruck expression was taking over his whole face. Then Tracy squealed, and was hugging _him_ forcefully while making a series of excited sounds. Crowley patted her on the back gingerly.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Ah, Crowley, this is Tracy, she’s--”

“His housekeeper.” She released Crowley, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “And you two have been traveling for days, you come right inside and get settled, I’ll have dinner ready in a wink--”

The flow of chatter continued as she led them both inside. Aziraphale took his hand and they followed. Crowley leaned in to whisper archly, “Betrothed?” 

Aziraphale pinked. “Is there a more appropriate term? I couldn’t very well say you’re my husband, I’d never hear the end of it for getting married without anyone from home. And besides…” He ducked his head. “I… rather like the idea of a wedding. If you…”

Crowley squeezed his hand. “Sounds perfect, angel.” Some kind of strange butterfly dance was going on in his stomach at the thought that Aziraphale wanted to stand up in front of people and _choose_ him all over again, but he could process that later.

“Oh good,” Aziraphale murmured, smiling with his eyes lowered.

They’d gone up the stairs while Crowley wasn’t really paying attention, and Tracy was opening a door on the upstairs hall. “...here we are, dears, you go on in and relax.” She leaned in and whispered, “Mr. Shadwell's having a bit of a _moment_ , likes his privacy when he’s feeling emotional, you know, but you’ll see him at dinner, I’m sure.” She patted them both on the cheek, sniffed loudly, then turned and bustled away.

They turned, and Crowley stepped for the first time into Aziraphale’s domain.

Entering Aziraphale’s room felt like sinking into a soft bed at the end of a long day. Everything here had the mildly faded look of things that had been well-loved until they were as comfortable as possible. Tired feet sank into a welcoming rug the color of chocolate. One entire wall was bookcases, all crammed with slightly tattered books, and a well-worn burgundy bedspread covered the four-poster bed. Crowley had a mild moment of deja-vu when he saw the wingback chair pulled up next to a crackling fire, with a small table conveniently in arm’s reach-- but this armchair was far more cushiony than the one they’d used in the palace, and also featured a matching footrest. A small wooden desk looked out the window, which currently showed the deepening blue of an evening sky.

Aziraphale was gripping his hand tightly. “We’ll need to get another chair, I suppose,” he said, voice thick with tears.

Crowley squeezed back. “Maybe. I don’t mind sharing. We’ve done all right with that so far.”

Aziraphale laughed wetly and led him inside. He wandered the room, touching everything with wondering fingers, as if to be sure it was all real. “It’s just as I left it,” he murmured, and rubbed his eyes. Then he turned to Crowley. “Do you like it?”

Crowley smiled a little crookedly. “It’s you, angel. Of course I love it.”

That was apparently the last straw for Aziraphale, whose tears spilled over. Crowley put his arms around him and rocked soothingly. “You’re home, love. It’s all right. You’re home.”

They ended up seated on the bed (exactly as cloudlike as it looked), Aziraphale’s head resting on Crowley’s shoulder.

“So Tracy…” Crowley trailed off inquiringly.

“Doesn’t act much like a housekeeper?” Aziraphale chuckled. “I was fairly young when my parents died, and it’s just been the three of us since then. She’s more like family than anything else.”

“Mmm. Makes sense.”

“Although to be honest, from what I remember she’s always acted like this. Maybe some people were just…”

“Born to be an eccentric old aunt?” Crowley grinned.

Aziraphale chuckled. “I suppose so.”

“I’ve never been in charge of a house, but isn’t three people not much to take care of a place like this?

“A lot of the rooms are shut up. It seemed silly to maintain two parlors, a dining room, and a whole lot of bedrooms that no one ever went into, especially once it was just me. It does tend to get a bit dusty at times, but we manage quite well.”

“Aziraphale?” Tracy’s voice echoed up the stairs. “Would you come down and have a taste of this sauce?”

Aziraphale stirred, then stood and stretched. “Will you be all right here, dear? I expect she wants to ask me a lot of questions about you.”

Crowley grinned. “Just like Anathema?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Tragically, the questions will probably be even _more_ personal and invasive. And she can claim the privilege of having looked after me when I was young.”

Crowley gave an ironic salute. “Good luck, angel.”

In the kitchen, Aziraphale tasted and tried and made pleased noises over everything Tracy was cooking before being shooed into a chair with a cup of tea. He had a sweet moment inhaling the steam of tea made _exactly_ the way he liked it before the interrogation began. Aziraphale gave a carefully edited version of the past few months, and as usual ended up telling her far more than he’d meant to.

Finally he said, looking down into his teacup, “He saved my life, Tracy. I wouldn’t have made it back if he hadn’t--” He broke off.

Tracy wiped her eyes and stirred one of the pots aggressively. “He is a _very_ nice boy,” she said firmly.

Aziraphale smiled. “And how would you know that already? Did you read his palm while I wasn’t looking?”

“Hmph. I saw the way he looked at you. That boy is head over ears for you, and why wouldn’t he be? Now enough of your teasing. Chop this parsley for me.”

Aziraphale took the herbs and relaxed into the simple task.

Crowley ambled around the room slowly putting away their things and stopping over and over again to look closer at Aziraphale’s belongings, skimming through his books, running his fingers over his clothes. This place fit Aziraphale like a glove, and it felt a bit heady to have been invited in. He was toying with a pen lying next to a half-finished letter on Aziraphale’s desk-- relics of a life that had been interrupted-- when he heard a scuffling sound by the door.

He opened it. Three startled looking children scrambled for various hilariously inadequate hiding places. Only the fourth stood his ground, looking over Crowley as if _he_ were the trespasser.

“Where’s Aziraphale?” the curly-haired boy demanded.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “In the kitchen,” he answered.

“Who are you?”

“His betrothed.”

“What’s that mean?”

“We’re going to get married.”

A tinny voice piped up from behind a small table. “You look like an Alandan. Alandans conquered the capital. Are you here to conquer our town?”

“No, I’m here to marry Aziraphale.”

“Oh.” The voice seemed satisfied.

The curly-haired boy was looking Crowley over appraisingly. “Does that mean you’re in love with him, then?”

Crowley went back to folding clothes. “Yes.”

“What’s that like?”

He blinked. “It’s good.”

The boy nodded, appeased, then turned and clumped down the stairs, his little gang following him. “Bye, Mr. Aziraphale’s-husband!” one of them called back to him.

Crowley stuck his head out the door. “He’s pretty tired, you might want to come back tomorrow,” he warned.

“He’ll want to see us,” the boy said in a lordly way.

By the time Crowley was called to the kitchen, Tracy had pried the four children away from Aziraphale with a mixture of cookies, threats, and promises to see him tomorrow. When Crowley walked inside, he caught the tail end of a conversation:

“-- _ever_ worry Miss Tracy that way again, you ungrateful brat--”

Crowley tensed, but then he caught sight of the soft expression on Aziraphale’s face as he regarded the rather grizzled man who was scolding him. Scolding him with a bit of a quiver in his voice, now that Crowley noticed it.

“Of course not. I’m terribly sorry, Shadwell. I shall do my best to be more considerate in the future.”

“See that you do!” Shadwell swung around and caught sight of Crowley. “Ha! Who’s this? Bringing mad foreigners back with you from your gallivanting! And what kind of trouble are _you_ planning to cause, young man?”

Aziraphale stepped forward and slipped an arm around Crowley’s waist. “This is my betrothed, Crowley. Dearest, this is Shadwell--”

“Groundsman,” he growled.

“Just so. He handles everything around here that Tracy and I can’t manage, really.”

“Hmmph.” Shadwell sat at the table with a thud, grumbling at them both under his breath.

Dinner was simple and good, filled with Tracy’s pleasant chatter about people Crowley didn’t know, occasional grunts from Shadwell, and Aziraphale’s questions and his laughter. They lingered so long over hot tea and fresh cookies that Aziraphale started to nod over the table, leaning easily into Crowley when he guided him upstairs.

“Thank you for coming here with me, darling,” he murmured sleepily as they sank into the bed.

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s hair, surrounded on all sides by the man he loved. “Happy I’m here, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the original vision for this story, Crowley and Aziraphale were the only named characters, barring a brief appearance by the woman who turned into Anathema. But Aziraphale's home needs populating, and really, who else would be there but the human characters we know and love?


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's late! Have some more happy fluff.

Aziraphale woke to sunlight on his face, the way he had most mornings of his life. He stretched luxuriously, smiling before he had even opened his eyes, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. A _normal_ morning felt so good, safe at home with all the little joys of a _normal_ day waiting for him--

A warm arm emerged from the fluffy duvet, wrapped around his waist, and tugged him back down.

 _“No,”_ Crowley said distinctly. He was just a lump in the blankets with a few tufts of red hair sticking out the top. He pulled Aziraphale snug against himself, coiled all his limbs around him, and dropped back into unconsciousness.

Well. Maybe some things were better than the old normal.

Aziraphale could just reach a book without disturbing Crowley. He snagged it, then settled back against his betrothed to read in the warmth and the sunlight.

An hour later he had had about enough lazing for one day and started to wriggle out of Crowley’s embrace. His lover’s arms only tightened, so he gave up and tried a different tactic.

“You know, dearest, there’s another advantage to having you here with me. Normally if I slept in this late, Tracy would be at my door worrying that I was sick.” He hummed thoughtfully. “But she probably assumes we’re having sex.”

Crowley grunted. “Could be.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Darling, be serious. You couldn’t find your own cock with both hands at the moment, much less mine.”

 _“What?”_ Crowley sat up with a jerk, staring indignantly down at Aziraphale, blanket imprints ridging one side of his face, hair sticking in all directions. In a second he had flipped Aziraphale onto his back and pinned him. “You think I--”

He stopped as Aziraphale was overcome with laughter. “Well that was quite effective,” he giggled. “Should be useful the next time I want to get you up in a hurry.”

Crowley glared, one corner of his mouth twitching against his will. “Oh, angel,” he growled, leaning in threateningly. “You are going to get it.” His lips brushed over Aziraphale’s. “Maybe I won’t let you out of bed today at all.”

A comical war between dismay and arousal played out across Aziraphale’s face. “O-oh. How dreadful. I shall certainly-- never do such a thing-- again.”

“Mmm. That’s what I thought.”

Forty minutes later they finally stumbled out of the bedroom, giggling and touching each other like teenagers. The kitchen was empty, but breakfast had been left out for them and Aziraphale put the kettle on and set about filling their plates. 

Crowley’s arms wrapped around him from behind, and he started kissing his way up his neck. “You’re making this very difficult, darling,” Aziraphale chided, even as he tilted his head to expose more of his neck.

“Mmm. Sorry. Let me make it up to you,” Crowley murmured against his skin.

Aziraphale turned in his arms, wrapping his own around his lover’s neck. “I can’t imagine how you could do that,” he breathed, staring into captivating golden eyes.

“I can be creative.” Crowley pushed him back against the counter, pressing their hips together and kissing him deeply.

“Well! _Good_ morning! Should I come back later?” a cheery voice inquired from the door.

Aziraphale almost jumped out of his skin. “Ah! Tracy! Um-- so sorry! I--”

Crowley pulled away more slowly, keeping an arm around Aziraphale. “Morning, Tracy. Thanks for breakfast.”

“You’re very welcome,” Tracy smirked from the doorway, arms crossed.

Crowley grinned right back, looking pleased with himself and not in the least embarrassed. Aziraphale, red as a tomato, bustled about fixing the tea and putting everything on the table. When he finally sat, he looked around and immediately jumped back up again. “Oh, I forgot the--” Crowley handed him the pot of cream. “--oh. Thank you, dear.” He couldn’t help beaming at Crowley, even though he could feel Tracy’s indulgent smile on them.

Crowley chatted easily with Tracy as they ate, asking questions and making jokes and being thoroughly charming. All the while, he kept _touching_ Aziraphale. Nothing sexual, just-- a knee brushing his, shoulders bumping, a warm hand resting over his own while Crowley gestured with his fork. Small things, but he realized that this was new for them: the simple intimacy of touching each other where others could see. It felt like a promise that their passionate affair could belong in his life and his world, that their romance could grow and transform into something that might be called _family_.

Aziraphale was still a little pink when breakfast was over. Crowley was leaning against the wall and smiling at him like there was no one else in the world. All he said was, “What’s next, angel?” 

Aziraphale took his hand. “We meet everyone else, darling.”

When Crowley had imagined Aziraphale’s old life, he had pictured a lot of sitting in a comfortable chair by a fire and reading. While there were definitely books all over the house and clearly a lot of reading went on, Crowley was learning that Aziraphale was _busy._ And what he was busy with was helping people.

That first day when they went into the village, people were _ecstatic_ to see Aziraphale. Everyone wanted a moment to talk to him. He knew everyone’s names and everyone’s children’s names and asked after everyone’s troubles and hopes and plans for the future. Crowley very quickly realized what was happening to all the money that a normal noble would have spent on a more lavish lifestyle. Not that he ever saw Aziraphale give anyone money. No, but someone’s child wanted to go to university, and Aziraphale was _sure_ there was a scholarship available. Someone else wanted to visit family who had moved far away, and Aziraphale offered his help arranging the journey. The school near the center of town looked extremely well maintained. A healer who seemed much better trained than Crowley would expect in such a small town approached Aziraphale about help for the haying season, when injuries were frequent, and the conversation immediately turned to who would it be best to ask, and not how simple farmers would pay for such a thing. People came to Aziraphale for other things, too; a young woman spoke to him nervously for quite a long time before walking away to speak to a handsome young man. Siblings who had been quarrelling bitterly over their dead parents’ will were hugging each other and crying after Aziraphale spent half an hour with them. Someone wanted his advice on what color to paint their house, another on which kind of pie would be best to enter in a town competition.

It felt a bit dreamlike to Crowley, walking by his side in the bright sunshine. It took him a little while to understand why. They had spent months in the company of people who had been ready to let Aziraphale die because it didn’t seem worth the trouble to save him. Here, in his home, all of these people looked at him and saw what Crowley saw: Aziraphale was _special_. And they loved him for it. Practically every third person they talked to gave him something to eat. He was welcome in everyone’s homes. Soon his arms were full of little gifts that could only be given by people who knew him well. It was all enough to make Crowley want to sling him over his shoulder and carry him back to bed to make sure he didn’t forget what _Crowley_ could do for him. But of course, Aziraphale was Aziraphale, and Crowley, who had expected to mostly be left on the edge of things, was introduced to every person they spoke to. Over and over, Aziraphale would reach out his hand and repeat the words that really should have gotten less thrilling the tenth or twentieth time, “My betrothed, Crowley.” That was the cue for hugging or squealing or good-natured ribbing about how late they had left the house that morning. Crowley kept waiting for suspicion, for jealousy that an outsider had dared to claim a man who so clearly belonged to _them_ , but it never came. At one point, when Aziraphale had been surrounded by a highly talkative group of old men, a young woman approached Crowley shyly with a bouquet of primroses. 

_Well, this is going to be awkward,_ he thought, but then she said, “You’re Aziraphale’s betrothed, aren’t you?” When he nodded, she went on, “I-- we heard that-- you rescued him. And I just wanted to-- thank you. For all of us.” Blushing, she thrust the flowers into his hands and fled.

A moment later, Aziraphale was excusing himself with a laugh and taking his hand. “Oh, those are lovely, where did you get them?”

Crowley leaned in to grumble in his ear. “Angel, have you been telling people that I saved your life?”

“Hmm? No? Well, I suppose I told Tracy, but--” He looked at the flowers and a smile spread across his face. “And I imagine she may have mentioned it to a few of her friends, who may have thought it worth repeating. What is it, dearest? Uncomfortable having your heroics acknowledged?” Aziraphale laughed up at him.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “There weren’t any _heroics,_ angel, it was all, you know, sneakery. Tricks. Cunning. Much more my style. It sounds like these people think I saved you from a dragon with a sword.”

Aziraphale leaned into him. “And if I were ever to be menaced by a dragon, I feel sure that you would come to the rescue.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but he could feel his lips twitching into a smile. He kept the flowers.

That evening, they settled into the library with a very good bottle of wine and each other’s company. Aziraphale propped up his tired feet and leaned into Crowley’s shoulder with a happy sigh. Crowley ran his fingers through his curls and stared into the fire thoughtfully.

“You know, I think I understand now.”

“Hmm?”

“Why you were so ready to die to protect all this.” His arms dropped to hold Aziraphale close to him.

Aziraphale looked up at him with a sad, proud little smile. “They are well worth dying for.”

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s hair. “Better this way. You can have both.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale’s voice was a sigh against his chest. “Thanks to you, I believe I can have everything I want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! There will eventually be more plot, but they just get to be happy for a while.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines Day! Have some porn.

“That lavender ought to be pruned,” Crowley commented. It was evening, and he and Aziraphale were strolling back to the house after another day running around the village.

“Should it? Well, there’s really too much out here for Shadwell to manage on his own, especially as he’s gotten older. A lot of the flowers have to fend for themselves a bit.” Aziraphale looked up at him curiously. “How do you know that, though? I thought you’d lived in cities all your life?”

Crowley swung their joined hands idly. “My mother liked gardens. She taught me some,” he said casually.

Aziraphale blinked at him, momentarily speechless. “You’ve… never mentioned her before,” he said carefully.

“Yeah, she disappeared when I was pretty little. Died, or left.” He shrugged. “We weren’t exactly close.”

Aziraphale ran his thumb over the back of Crowley’s hand, trying to think of what to say. “I’m… sorry to hear that, my dear.”

“‘S fine, angel, it was a long time ago. More common than you’d think.” He grinned. “Plant stuff got me this job, though. I owe her for that.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand and accepted the change in subject. “And what on earth do plants have to do with spycraft?”

“Got me a job at the palace, didn’t it? I was supposed to be casing the place to steal something big, something that would get us out of the business for good.” He shrugged. “They were always saying that. I went in as a gardener. But it turns out that people think palace gardens are a great place for conspiring, and I overheard a plan to assassinate the queen.” They’d made it down to the kitchen and Crowley dropped to sprawl on a bench. “Figured it was the best chance I was likely to get, so I took it. Broke into her rooms that night and told her.” He grinned wryly. “Almost got killed on the spot. Lucky for me she has a sense of humor. And she’s smart. Realized I was telling the truth, and thought I could be good at this.”

“That’s quite a story, my dear!”

He shrugged. “I doubt anyone has a normal story for how they became a spy. It’s not like it’s anybody’s family business.”

Aziraphale kissed his cheek. “You were very brave, love. Most people don’t have the courage to take their destinies into their own hands like that.”

“Or most people have more sense than to risk their necks on an outside chance.”

“Much as I wish you’d be more careful with yourself, I can’t honestly complain about that particular trait.” He traced a finger across Crowley’s cheek. “Since I was the outside chance you most recently risked your life for.”

Crowley smiled. “Nahhh, angel, that was a dead certainty. I made _sure_ of it.”

They were quiet for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes. Finally Aziraphale cleared his throat and commented, “You speak… almost affectionately of the queen, sometimes.”

“I like her, mostly. She doesn’t talk bullshit with me, or play games to get more power. If she wasn’t queen, we might be friends.”

“But?”

“Alanda’s always going to come first, for her. Hard to be friends with someone when I know she’d slit my throat without blinking if she thought it was the best thing for the country. She might feel bad, but she’d do it. Uncomfortable.”

Tracy and Shadwell arrived then, and the conversation dropped.

After dinner, Aziraphale asked, “I had thought I might sit in the library for a bit and read, if that’s all right with you?”

“Shadwell asked me to help him move some boxes Tracy wants down from the attic, actually. Well, I say _‘asked’_...” He rolled his eyes. Shadwell had stayed exactly as gruff and unfriendly and borderline-insulting as he’d been on the first day, but had started occasionally commanding Crowley like he was a recalcitrant child. Tracy and Aziraphale both assured him that this was his way of expressing affection. “Meet you there after?”

“Oh! No, I’ll come help you!” Aziraphale hopped up from his seat immediately.

“That’s all right, angel--”

“No, no, I insist!”

Boxes moved, they settled in together in the library for what started out as reading and turned into holding each other and kissing, which eventually turned into other activities, safe and comfortable in their bed.

“Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry! I forgot it entirely!”

Tracy, in her ebullience over Aziraphale’s return, had embarked on an unprecedented amount of spring cleaning, which the rest of the household inevitably got roped into. This time it had been a set of frayed curtains in need of mending, and she’d asked Aziraphale to bring them down to the village with him along with a small unidentified parcel, in a mysterious exchange of craft with one of the women he was expecting to visit that day.

Mrs. Moore, a tiny, elderly thing who was apparently the most skilled needlewoman for miles around, patted his arm reassuringly. “Not to worry, dear. I’m sure you have a lot on your mind.” She winked lecherously at Crowley, who immediately understood why she and Tracy were friends. “Why don’t you send your young man to get it while we have a nice little chat? That way I can have you all to myself.”

Aziraphale smiled, but it was oddly tense, and his grip on Crowley’s hand tightened suddenly. “I-- ah-- I don’t-- well--”

“Sorry, angel, I don’t think I can find it on my own. Whole place is a maze now that Tracy’s started moving everything around,” he interrupted Aziraphale’s stammering smoothly. “Maybe we can pick it up when we go back for lunch, bring it here in the afternoon?”

Aziraphale visibly relaxed. Crowley winked back at Mrs. Moore, who cackled loudly, “I see, don’t want to let him out of your sight, do you? And who could blame you, he’s quite the catch!” She drew them both inside for an afternoon that featured a lot more detail about her youthful escapades than Crowley really wanted to hear, but was surprisingly hilarious for all that.

Crowley had intended to ask Aziraphale about his obvious discomfort once they were alone that night, but the moment their bedroom door shut, his partner pounced on him.

“Mmm… angel… ah, _fuck…_ don’t wanna wait tonight, huh?”

Aziraphale, who had plastered his body against Crowley’s, looked up at him with eyes blown wide. “No,” he breathed, “I don’t.” Then their lips were meeting again, hands running underneath clothes to touch and hold and stroke until both of them were gasping. Crowley finally pulled himself together enough to start getting clothing out of the way, and soon they were both naked and falling into bed together, the warmth of their bare skin moving against each other. Crowley loved these moments. He loved running his hands over Aziraphale’s skin, soft as silk. Loved watching that pale skin flush under his attention, loved how Aziraphale would quiver at his touch. He loved that for both of them, the rest of the world seemed to fall away, and all they could see was each other. He liked to linger over it, make it last, always something new to discover about his angel’s beautiful body, but today Aziraphale urged him on with desperate fingers, and wasn’t _that_ intoxicating. He laid himself directly on top of Aziraphale and carefully let his weight press him into the mattress while he kissed him breathless, loving the sensuality of that velvety skin against every inch of his naked body. When he pulled away Aziraphale was gasping.

“Darling, darling, please--” He pulled in a breath, fingers clinging to Crowley’s shoulders. “Would you pin me down? Like--” His eyelashes lowered. “Like you did the first time?”

Something squeezed Crowley’s heart. “Love to.” Carefully, he took each of Aziraphale’s wrists in one hand and pressed them above his head. He pulled himself up to kneel over his lover and run his eyes over all that beauty, spread out just for him. “Feeling nostalgic, sweetheart?”

“You made me feel so good,” he whispered, eyes caught in Crowley’s. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel good again. Much less that I’d meet someone who made me feel better than I’d ever imagined.”

Crowley leaned down and kissed him hard, Aziraphale arching up into the kiss. “I had no idea what I was getting myself into,” he murmured. “I just knew you were beautiful, and clever, and kind. No idea you were going to change my whole life. No idea I really was going to bed with an angel.”

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut. “I love you so much, Crowley,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Please, love, I need you.”

Crowley pressed their lips together again, but he knew what his angel meant and he was in no mood to deny him. With his free hand he reached down and slowly guided their bodies together. Still kissing, he felt his angel’s gasp against his lips, felt his whimper as he began to rock in and out, felt his whole body tremble when he found the perfect angle.

“Aziraphale,” he whispered, aching with devotion. “Love.”

Aziraphale’s eyes opened at that and Crowley stared into brilliant blue. _“Oh…”_ He wrapped his legs around Crowley’s waist and pulled him closer, urging him on. “Oh, my Crowley,” he gasped, “Crowley, darling, _harder_.”

He shifted his weight to get more leverage and then snapped his hips forward, slamming himself deep into his lover. “Anything you want,” he panted. “Anything.”

Aziraphale’s head was thrown back, exposing his white neck, eyes closed, lips parted as he moaned with every thrust. “Yes… oh, darling… harder, please…”

 _“Yes,_ angel,” he growled. “You like that? You want to feel me… tomorrow? Want to feel that you’re mine?”

_“Yes… yes… yes…”_

“Mine… all mine… only mine…”

“Yes, please, _Crowley!”_ Aziraphale’s body convulsed under him, and Crowley let go, let the wave of his pleasure crest and they came together, kissing desperately.

Gradually their breathing slowed. Crowley’s hand came up to stroke through Aziraphale’s hair, smiling lazily. “Come a long way since then, haven’t we?”

Aziraphale nuzzled closer to him. “We certainly have, my darling.”

  
Later that night, Aziraphale woke with a start, heart pounding. His hands clutched at the sheets as he stared wildly into the dark, unseeing. He was-- they were going to-- he couldn’t-- He groped around in a panic and felt another body, warm and alive and half on top of him. _Crowley._ Crowley was here. Gradually his breathing slowed, and he remembered where he was, what had happened. Shivering now, he curled up closer to his lover. Crowley was here, that was what mattered. Everything was fine. He was safe.


	18. Chapter 18

Aziraphale had decided it was time he checked in on some of the families who lived a bit farther away. It wasn’t so far that they _couldn’t_ have walked, but both concluded that it would be more pleasant to ride. Crowley understood better now how it was that Aziraphale had never learned to ride properly, if this was all he was used to— a few miles down a flat road. It was beautiful, though; the sun was shining, the roadside was dotted with flowers, and as they passed a small woodland Crowley could see branches in full bloom peeping through the leaves.

“Oh, we must go back there sometime,” Aziraphale said enthusiastically. “It’s absolutely lovely this time of year, I’d love for you to see it.” He beamed at Crowley. He’d seemed tired when they woke up that morning, but now that they were on their way his usual high spirits had returned.

“Sure, angel,” Crowley smiled back at him.

When they arrived at the farm, a middle-aged couple strolled out to greet them. Crowley and Aziraphale dismounted, and the man seemed to be eyeing Crowley thoughtfully. After the usual friendly greetings and introductions, he asked, “You any good with horses?”

Crowley’s eyebrows went up. “Uh, I do all right. Why?”

“Why don’t you come out to the barn with me? We’ve got a new one nobody’s been able to do anything with. See what you think.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Peter’s been taking up hopeless cases again. Maybe your Crowley can save him from his own optimism. Though I doubt anyone’s ever going to ride that monster. You come along with me, I have a pie just out of the oven with your name on it!” She tugged Aziraphale toward the house cheerily.

“Oh-- ah--” Crowley thought for a moment that Aziraphale looked suddenly pale. But then he smiled and waved him off. “Oh, Molly, Peter’s found some real gems over the years. Remember when he bought those seeds nobody thought would grow around here? And look at them now!” He gestured toward what appeared to be an extremely lush garden.

Molly snorted. _“Seeds_ aren’t quite the same as taking a risk on _horses_. And remember when--” They strolled off, arguing cheerfully.

Peter chuckled and shook his head, then waved Crowley along toward the barn.

The barn was small, with a hayloft and just enough stalls for the pair of elderly-looking draft horses and the placid cow that they’d passed in the pasture. That, and one stall that was occupied.

She had to be the most beautiful horse Crowley had ever seen. Pure black, sleek and elegant and strong, with an unusually intelligent glint in her eyes. Crowley ran a hand down her shining neck, and she nickered quietly and blew in his face. He chuckled and blew back, then vaulted over the stall door to look at her more closely.

When he looked up, Peter was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, smiling. “Well, looks like you two were meant to be together.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Why do you say that?”

“Got her cheap because nobody’d ever been able to ride her. She took a chunk out of the last person tried to get close. Think she’s decided who she wants.”

Crowley blinked at the horse, who stood gazing at him calmly, then leaned over and lipped at his hair. “Hey, you cut that out!” He shoved at her head, laughing, and she shoved back, making him stumble.

Peter nodded decisively and straightened up. “Take her. Call it a wedding present from Molly and me.”

Crowley gaped at him. “I-- what?”

“None of us is gonna be able to ride her. Anyway, I know a match made in heaven when I see one. Wouldn’t be right to try to force a smart lady like that to take somebody she doesn’t want.”

“Uh--” Crowley thought through several things very quickly. _Well, why the fuck not?_ “I’ll buy her from you, how much?”

He shook his head. “Your Aziraphale’s done a lot for me ‘n Molly over the years. Got us through some bad spots. And from what I hear, you got him through a worse one. Take her.”

Crowley thought briefly that he would never get over being shocked by how these people loved Aziraphale. How different people could be from what he’d always known. Then he pulled himself together. “Peter,” he said with a smirk, “can you imagine what Aziraphale would do to me if he found out I took a gift that valuable from one of his people? Please. That house has a lot of extra bedrooms. I don’t want to get better acquainted with any of them.”

Peter threw his head back and laughed. “All right, all right, well then…”

A friendly bout of bargaining ensued, ending with a cheerful handshake before the two of them left the barn. Just as they were opening the door, Peter paused, frowning. Crowley opened his mouth to ask, but Peter gestured for him to be quiet. That was when he heard a muted giggling, coming from above. Peter let out an exasperated sigh. “You kids messing around in my hayloft again?” he bellowed.

The giggling intensified.

“How many times have I-- you four come down here, don’t make me come up there after you!”

Four familiar heads popped over the edge of the loft. “We weren’t messing around!”

“‘Course not!”

“We were--”

“Uh--”

“Hunting for mice! ‘S a big problem in barns, mice. Really we were doing you a favor.”

“You probably should thank us.”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

Peter crossed his arms. “For the last time, get _out_ of my hayloft before one of you falls and breaks their neck! Go on, get down here!”

Four dispirited children thumped down the ladder and out the door, protesting all the way. Crowley and Peter followed them out, but Crowley hung back when Peter started making his way to the house.

“That’s not how you get away with being someplace you shouldn’t be, you know.”

All four heads whipped around so fast he thought they might hurt themselves.

“An’ how would you know, Mr. Aziraphale’s-husband?”

He grinned. “Name’s Crowley. And you might say I have some experience with that.”

He had their attention now. “Whadda you mean?”

“Do you sneak into places?”

“Like what kinds of places?”

“How do you--”

He waved off the questions. “Doesn’t matter. The point is, nobody’s _ever_ going to believe you snuck into someplace to do a good deed. The trick is to make them think that you’re up to a _different_ kind of mischief than the kind you’re _really_ up to. Once somebody thinks they’ve caught you out, they never keep looking to see if there’s more to it.”

The little girl was looking at him skeptically. “Mr. Lawson doesn’t care what kind of mischief we’re up to. He just doesn’t want us in his hayloft.”

Crowley shrugged. “Just some professional advice.”

The curly-haired boy, however, looked intrigued. He nodded thoughtfully at Crowley, then trotted off with the rest of his friends. He turned back at the gate and yelled. “I’m Adam! See you in the village, Mr. Crowley!”

When Crowley stepped into the farmhouse kitchen, Aziraphale looked strangely tense. He was gripping his cup of tea with both hands, shoulders a little hunched, and he’d only taken a couple of bites of the pie sitting in front of him.

Crowley strolled up behind him and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “Hey, angel.”

He could physically feel the tension running out of his lover. “Darling!” One hand rose automatically to grip his, and he leaned back into Crowley’s embrace. “What did you make of Peter’s new purchase?”

Crowley swung around to take a seat next to him, keeping one arm looped around his waist. “Um, I think I made a new friend. Hope it’s all right with you.”

Aziraphale looked at him quizzically, and Peter laughed and launched into the tale of equine love-at-first-sight. Aziraphale smiled and laughed and looked at Crowley like he was something sweet and precious (offensive, that, Crowley was not _cute_ ), and it was all almost enough to make Crowley forget how strained Aziraphale had looked, sitting there alone.

“Is everything all right, angel?”

It was evening, and they were curled up together drinking wine on the comfortable sofa in the library-- another room that appeared to be a direct extension of Aziraphale’s personality, all dark wood and worn, soft furniture and a truly improbable number of books.

Aziraphale blinked at him in surprise. “Yes? What do you mean, dearest?”

Crowley scrubbed a hand through his hair and tried to name his vague sense of unease. “You just seem-- stressed, sometimes. Like you’re worrying about something, or-- I don’t know. Are you all right?” He slid tender fingers into Aziraphale’s hair, cradling his head. That aching desire to hold, to protect, to cherish welling up inside him.

Blue eyes flicked downward, then back up to meet his. “I’m wonderful, darling. I’m here with you, and home again, and everyone has been so lovely. I’m so happy sometimes it hardly seems real.” His hand rose to cup Crowley’s cheek. “You’ve made me so happy.”

He pulled them together into a soft kiss. “You make me happy too, angel,” Crowley said against his lips. Some part of him wanted to keep pushing, ask more questions, but that part had to contend with the intense flush of joy at Aziraphale’s words, and then Aziraphale made a little sound and deepened the kiss and it was all over. Crowley sank back against the arm of the sofa and Aziraphale moved down with him, on top of him. He wrapped his fingers around Aziraphale’s hips, which moved against his and both of them were gasping.

Aziraphale looked down at him with eyes dark with lust. “I don’t want to wait tonight, either, darling.”

Those words shot straight to his groin and he pulled Aziraphale back down into a messy kiss, all teeth and tongues. A log cracking on the fire reminded him of where they were. “Angel,” he panted, “should we take this upstairs? Not that I’m not up for a little adventure, but if Shadwell walks in on us my dick might actually shrivel up and fall off.”

Aziraphale choked on a laugh. “Oh, darling, Tracy would be much worse. At least _he_ could be relied on to aggressively pretend it never happened. Whereas _Tracy…”_ Crowley groaned in dismay. Aziraphale patted him comfortingly. “Fortunately, we do have an alternative.” He peeled himself off of Crowley and padded over to his desk, removing a brass key from one of its many drawers. In a moment both library doors were securely locked.

“Clever angel,” Crowley said admiringly from where he hung over the back of the sofa. Then he tossed himself over in a graceful tumble and stalked toward his betrothed, who stood frozen by the door, eyes riveted on him. “So where were we?” He plucked the key from Aziraphale’s hand and set it down, standing just a breath away from his lover, but not touching. Yet. “I remember,” he murmured. “You didn’t want to wait.” He leaned in, so his breath ghosted across Aziraphale’s ear when he whispered, “Stay still.”

A shudder ran through Aziraphale at the command, and he kept his hands down by his sides as Crowley carefully unbuttoned and untied until he stood naked, trembling with desire.

Crowley’s eyes roamed over him and a slow smile spread across his face. Then he was kissing him, arms wrapping around his thighs, lifting him and carrying him across the room without once breaking the kiss. He lowered Aziraphale into his armchair and leaned over him, lips still moving against his while he guided each wrist to the armrests. He held them there for a moment, gently, while he pulled back to search Aziraphale’s face. Seeing only a dreamy smile there, he grinned back and knelt at his feet. He saw Aziraphale’s eyes widen as he pressed his lips against the inside of his knee and slowly began kissing his way up his thigh. All that soft, pale skin, lovely and tender and sensitive under his mouth, and he savored the way his lover twitched and whimpered and gasped when Crowley couldn’t resist the urge to leave marks, right there between his legs, to show where he had been. He took a moment to meet those beautiful, dazed blue eyes.

“Love you,” he said, and took Aziraphale’s cock in his mouth.

Aziraphale’s whole body jerked, and Crowley looked up to watch the way he threw his head back against the chair, the way his pink lips dropped open in a perfect O, how his fingers clutched at the armrests. He let his hands wander while he sucked him, running across his chest, teasing his nipples, winding their fingers together for that last, sweet moment when Aziraphale gasped out his name and came.

Still limp and panting, he found Crowley’s eyes and whispered, “Hold me?”

Crowley gathered his slack body in his arms and laid them both side by side on the couch, trapping Aziraphale between his own body and the back. He gave a contented little hum and wrapped his arms around Crowley’s shoulders, pulling him more tightly against himself. It felt good to be held close and surrounded and pinned that way, like he was Crowley’s and only Crowley’s. He enjoyed, too, all the sensations on his naked skin: the slight roughness of the couch against his back, the smooth slide of Crowley’s dark clothing against his chest. It sent a little thrill through him to be so exposed while Crowley hadn’t removed a single article of clothing. Crowley was caressing him now, gentle lips moving on his neck while his hands ran up and down his back and through his hair. Aziraphale slid his own hands down and between them, longing to return that tenderness. Crowley’s breath caught, and Aziraphale tightened his hand around him, stroking.

“Aziraphale,” he gasped. “My angel.”

He smiled. “Yes,” he answered, tilting his head for a kiss. “Yours.”

Crowley groaned into his mouth. “You-- you have to decide,” he said breathlessly. “Do you want me-- _ah_ \-- want me to come like this? In your pretty hand? Or do you-- do you want--”

Aziraphale smiled brilliantly. “I think the real question is what _you_ want, darling.” He released Crowley’s cock and wrapped one bare leg around his hips, grinding against him. “You can have me however you like,” he whispered.

 _“Fuck,_ angel--” and Crowley was shoving his clothes down and out of the way, drawing Aziraphale’s legs up and around him, and in a moment he was inside his lover, and Aziraphale was moaning at the pressure and the stretch and the incredible _fullness_.

“Yes, love, _yes,”_ and Crowley was moving, rocking against that place inside him that made his whole body light up. He kept his movements deep and slow, and soon Aziraphale was hard again, gasping at the way Crowley’s taut stomach pressed tight against his cock, pleasuring him with every motion. “Please, Crowley, darling, _oh,_ take me-- take me hard, take me like you want to--”

Crowley growled against him, “I want you every way, angel,” but his grip on Aziraphale’s hips tightened and he began pounding, deep and hard. 

_“Yes… oh, yes…”_

_“Ah--”_

Then he could feel Crowley pulsing hot inside of him, just as his lover wrapped a hand around his cock and sent him over the edge after him.

They lay there for a while afterwards, wound around each other, murmuring soft words of love and devotion, and everything was warm, and happy, and safe. Eventually they pulled on enough clothing to be decent and snuck up to their bedroom, giggling and clinging to each other’s hands.

In the middle of the night, Aziraphale jerked upright, gasping for air. He couldn’t see-- but he could hear the emperor’s mocking laughter, feel the pain of splitting skin and breaking bones, the rough hands holding him helpless while another fist slammed into his ribs, cracking him open, he couldn’t bear it, he couldn’t bear it--

“Angel! Angel!”

He knew that voice. Even in the grip of the memory, he knew that voice, and he reached for it blindly. Crowley. Crowley could make this stop, Crowley could protect him--

Warm arms wrapped around him and held him close, and he hung on frantically, trying to feel what was real. Slowly, the room settled into place around him. His room. His bed. His love, embracing him and whispering a stream of reassurances. He relaxed his desperate grip and sank deeper into Crowley’s arms, breathing starting to calm.

“I’m here, love. I’ve got you. You’re safe. No one’s ever going to hurt you again, angel. Never. Never.”

He let his breath out in a long sigh. “I’m sorry, darling,” he murmured. “I’m all right now.”

Crowley’s lips brushed his cheek. “Don’t apologize.” His hand rubbed soothingly across his back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He nuzzled into Crowley’s chest. “Just bad memories. Bad dreams.” Crowley gently guided them both back down onto the pillows, keeping Aziraphale close. “I’m fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is staying warm and safe in the Snowpocalypse! Let me know what you think!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is late! Life has been life. Will try to be on time next week. Hope you enjoy!

Crowley seemed determined to fuss over him in the morning, and Aziraphale felt tired and shaken enough that he didn’t really _want_ to do anything but cuddle in the sunshine and listen to Crowley talk about how much he loved him.

“ZIRA I AIN’T COMIN’ IN THERE BUT IT’S MARKET DAY AN’ PEOPLE ARE EXPECTING YOU!” Tracy bellowed through the door.

Aziraphale shot upright. “Goodness grac-- Yes, Tracy, we’re coming!” He met Crowley’s eyes and collapsed back down in a fit of giggles.

Finally he sat up, wiping his eyes. “Well, I believe we have our marching orders, my dear,” he said, smiling down at his lover.

Crowley stretched languorously in their tangled sheets. “Sure I can’t change your mind?” He batted his eyelashes in a way that probably wasn’t intended to be comical.

Aziraphale tossed a pillow at him and stood, beginning to dress. “Certainly not, you wicked man! What would people think?”

“The truth?”

_“Exactly._ We get quite enough sly winks as it is. My reputation will never recover,” he sniffed, straightening his sleeves, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Crowley sat up, grinning at him. _“So_ sorry, angel. So awful for you.”

“Of course it is. Clearly I should have known better than to bring such a devilishly handsome man home with me.”

“Mmm. Clearly.”

By this point Aziraphale was halfway back down onto the bed, Crowley’s hand curling around the small of his back, their lips very close.

A door slammed somewhere downstairs and Aziraphale jumped slightly. “Oh, we really must be going, darling,” he said, turning away to pull on his shoes and hide his smile.

Crowley groaned, flopping back on the bed. “Angels aren’t supposed to _torture_ people, Aziraphale!”

“Obviously I’m doing no such thing. Just encouraging a bit of virtue.” He looked down, straightening his clothes. “Virtues are rewarded, you know.”

“Oh, _are_ they.”

When they finally got themselves reasonably dressed and Aziraphale went to open the door, Crowley stopped him with a hand on his elbow. “We really don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to, angel,” he said, suddenly serious. “We could tell them you aren’t feeling well. People would understand. Or you could say I was sick and you were looking after me. Whatever you like.”

Aziraphale smiled up at him, heart throbbing with that deep, fierce ache. “Thank you, darling. I’m quite all right. I want to go, to see everyone. It was only a dream.”

Crowley looked at him searchingly. “All right.”

The town square was crowded with stalls and people who’d come to buy and sell. Aziraphale was immediately borne away by a pair of women suffering from some sort of pastry-based marital squabble that apparently only he was qualified to assist with. Crowley settled back to watch from a polite distance, but some familiar voices caught his attention.

“What does a watchman do Mr. Tyler?”

“What are you watching for?”

“Are you good at watching? Bet I could be the best at watching.”

“Will you kids quit _pestering_ me?”

There was a microsecond of silence.

“If you’re supposed to be watching out all the time how come you grow apples?”

“Do the apples--”

Crowley watched with _great_ delight as Adam and one of his friends (the skinny one with the glasses) peppered an increasingly grouchy and (importantly) distracted-looking man with questions. Behind them, the other two were quietly relieving him of an astounding number of the apple tarts on display in his stall.

“Now, I can’t be bothered wi-- _Wha--! You give those back this instant!”_

All four children dashed away, brushing past Crowley, apple tarts clutched in their shirts and shoved in their mouths and smeared across their faces. Adam, bringing up the rear, paused for a split second to smile broadly and call out, “Thanks for the advice, Mr. Crowley!” Crowley waved cheerily back.

“An’ what kind of mischief are you helping those kids get into, hmm?”

Crowley grinned unrepentantly at Tracy. “As much as possible.”

She laughed. “I should’ve known that when Zira finally brought somebody home he’d be nothing but trouble!”

Crowley’s eyes drifted back to rest fondly on Aziraphale, where he stood a little distance away exchanging what looked like jokes with a few men their age. “Why _didn’t_ he bring someone home sooner?” he asked curiously. “I figured there’d be loads of people making calf-eyes at him, or old _friends_ wanting to take a trip down memory lane. Thought I’d have my work cut out for me. But there hasn’t been anyone.”

Tracy raised an eyebrow. “Bit of an odd question to be asking me, love. Seems like you should be talking to him about that.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “He’ll just say something humble about no one being interested. But that can’t be true. _Look_ at him,” he gestured. “He’s beautiful, and kind, and everybody loves him. I’m surprised no one carried him off before he was twenty.”

Tracy looked at him thoughtfully. “Things just turn out how they turn out, I s’pose. But if you ask me…” She frowned. “Zira doesn’t tell people things. Not bad things. Even I have to pry his troubles out of him. It keeps people at a bit of a distance, doing that.”

Crowley nodded slowly, eyes on his lover. “He does do that, doesn’t he.”

Tracy nudged him. “Maybe he was just waiting for the right one before he let anyone get close. He’s got you now. Seems like things turned out how they were supposed to be.”

Crowley turned to her. “I’m not like him, you know,” he blurted out, suddenly wanting her to know. “I’m not… nice. There’s no horde of friends waiting to welcome me home. There’s a reason for that.”

Tracy scoffed. “Aziraphale doesn’t need somebody like him. He’s nice enough for ten people. He _needs_ somebody to get him to be selfish some of the time. Someone who puts _him_ first when he’s thinking of everybody but himself.”

Crowley smiled a little. _“That_ I can do.”

“I know.” Tracy looked away from him, and he was startled to see her eyes had filled with tears. “He told me what you did for him.” She took a shaky breath. “I’ll never forget as long as I live the look on his face the day he left here. White to the lips he was, and trying to smile, and telling everybody his cousin would get sick of him and send him home in no time, all with this _look_ in his eyes like something had him by the throat and he couldn’t let on. Anybody could see he thought it was the end.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes.

Crowley rested a hand on her arm. “I’ll never let anyone hurt him like that again, Tracy,” he said lowly.

“I know.” She met his eyes, her own bright and fierce. “You say you’re not nice. Well, I’m _glad_ Zira’s got somebody with claws on his side.”

He nodded. She patted his arm firmly. “Now. Come along and help me pick out some nice strawberries for dinner tonight.”

The crowd moved as another wagon drove into the square, blocking Aziraphale from view. They bought their strawberries and Tracy went off to finish her shopping, and Crowley strolled around idly looking for anything Aziraphale might like. 

“Crowley? Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice was tight and nervous. Crowley looked up and started toward the sound, but there was a group around the wagon he struggled to get past. “Crowley!” Nervousness had edged its way up into panic.

“I’m here!” He swung around the corner and gripped him by the arms. Aziraphale let out a gasp of relief.

“Crowley-- Crowley, I--” His eyes were wide with fear, and he hung onto Crowley with shaking fingers.

“Angel, what happened? Are you hurt? Did something--”

Aziraphale shook his head spasmodically. “No-- nothing-- it’s nothing-- I--”

Crowley wrapped an arm around his waist and in seconds he’d guided them out of the square through one of the routes he’d noted out of habit as soon as they arrived. Alone, in the shade behind one of the buildings, Aziraphale leaned back against the wall with his eyes closed and slowly calmed his breathing. Crowley stood close, between him and the rest of the world, rubbing his hands carefully.

“I just need a minute,” he whispered. Crowley nodded. Finally Aziraphale opened his eyes and gave him a weak smile. “I’m sorry, my dear. Just had a bad moment. I’m better now.”

Crowley frowned in concern. “Angel… you know you can tell me if something’s going on, don’t you? You know I _want_ you to tell me?”

Aziraphale leaned into his embrace. “I wouldn’t try to keep it from you if I were in danger, love. I’m not such a fool. Everything really _is_ all right.”

Crowley’s hand ran up and down his back slowly. “It... really doesn’t seem that way, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I’m sorry, dear. I know I’ve been… nervous. But there’s no reason for it, I assure you. Just still shaking off bad memories, I think. Nothing to worry about.”

“Is there anything I could do that would help?”

Aziraphale tried out a smile. “Continue to be your delightful self?”

Crowley snorted. “Seriously, angel.”

“Seriously, then, there’s nothing. I only need some more time to settle in, I think. Now, shall we?”

Crowley gave him a confused look. “You sure you don’t want to go home? Relax for a while, maybe read?”

“Not at all! Why, there must be a dozen people I still need to talk to, and I told Tracy I’d pick up some basil, and you simply _must_ try Matthew’s custard tarts…”

Crowley reluctantly let himself be led back into the market on a wave of enthusiastic chatter. 

“Aziraphale!” Adam’s little gang had apparently decided the market was safe again (or had finished eating their tarts, more likely), and now one of its members was trotting toward them.

“Hello, Pepper, are you enjoying the day?”

She grinned sharkishly up at them. “Yep. Good food.” Crowley snorted, earning a curious glance from Aziraphale. “Mom said to tell you, Great-Aunt Lydia’s visiting from the eastern provinces and she knows all kinds of old stories. You’re supposed to come to our house sometime. Some of them are pretty cool, too.”

“Oh, thank you, that’s wonderful! Oh, my, and I don’t have my book with me. Would you mind terribly if we stopped back at the house, dearest?” Message delivered, Pepper lost interest and scampered away.

Crowley blinked. “Um, sure? What book?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, I’ve never mentioned, have I! I collect folktales, you see, old stories and legends and even aphorisms. There’s so much to be learned about people from the stories they tell, and so much history tucked away in what sounds like fantasy. Over time, stories get forgotten, and so much is lost if no one records them! It’s a hobby, mostly, although I do know a few scholars who are interested and we exchange research sometimes. All the villagers know I’m mad about old stories, so anytime they get wind of a new one they let me know.” Aziraphale beamed. “It’s very exciting. I’ve not traveled at all in the eastern part of the empire, so there’s a very good chance these will be new to me. Or at least new variations, those are fascinating in their own right…”

The rest of their day was occupied by a trip back to the house for a truly massive tome half-filled with notes in Aziraphale’s loopy scrawl, then to Pepper’s mothers’ kitchen (heavily scented with lavender) to talk to possibly the oldest woman Crowley had ever seen. She seemed a bit confused by who exactly Aziraphale was, but she remembered the old stories vividly and was delighted to share them, her frail voice growing animated as she added commentary and memories from the days when she’d first heard them herself. They stayed there for hours, drinking endless cups of heavily sweetened tea. Eventually she grew tired and they strolled back to the house in the twilight, Aziraphale gesturing excitedly as he explained to Crowley what was an adaptation of stories from elsewhere, and what might have caused this change or that, and which stories were entirely new to him, and what he had learned from them, and how there were at least four people he needed to write to learn more about this…

Looking into his shining eyes, Crowley couldn’t bear to snuff out this joy. So he listened, and asked questions, and let Aziraphale’s happiness fill his whole heart. And, silently, he worried.


End file.
